


But only in summertime

by inkheartcm



Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: 30 Days of Writing, And a little bit of angst, F/F, F/M, Gen, July - Freeform, M/M, Multi, Shenanigans, Summer, au prompts, lots of fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-02
Updated: 2015-07-31
Packaged: 2018-04-07 06:40:59
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 31
Words: 32,800
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4253247
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/inkheartcm/pseuds/inkheartcm
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of writing prompts for July. Some have the general theme of summer and others are whatever prompt I felt like writing. Mostly pairings and OT3. Any tags and triggers will be at the beginning of each chapter. The title is from "Summertime" by Imagine Dragons.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Day 1 - Forgetting about the glass office
> 
> Tags: established Portamis, accidental injury

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 1 - Forgetting about the glass office
> 
> Tags: established Portamis, accidental injury

Porthos was stuck at work and he was pissed. Not at any one particular person, just at the whole universe in general. Today it was his and Aramis’ first anniversary today and he was supposed to have had the day off. He had spent forever getting reservations at Aramis’ favorite restaurant. Porthos had even gone so far as to ask Constance’s advice on what to wear. It was all set. He had gotten d’Artagnan to cover for him at work and Athos had passed off the majority pf Porthos paperwork to either Flea or Alice to ensure he wouldn’t have anything that might interfere with his date night plans.

Except the universe decided to crap all over Porthos’ finally made plans. 

First d’Artagnan had to be an even bigger idiot that he already was and had to go and break his leg while trying to impress Constance with his new bike. Then to top it all off, Athos who almost never got sick, had to be out sick with the flu.

So here, Porthos was, two hours after he promised Aramis that he’d be home, sitting in his office. He really wanted to leave, but Ninon had a case tomorrow that she needed to have this paperwork finished. Flea and Alice were already swamped with other case paperwork and Porthos couldn’t in good faith leave with this unfinished. No matter how much he fumed about missing dinner. 

At least the office had a good view. Not that Porthos was enjoying it much today. Stars were already shining over the glittering city. Somewhere down there was the restaurant that he had spent 4 months getting a reservation for. 

He hoped that Aramis wouldn’t be too disappointed that he missed dinner and missed most of their anniversary. When Porthos had accidently forgotten about Aramis’ birthday, the man had sulked for almost two weeks before Porthos had made it up to him.

Porthos had no desire to sing karaoke again. No matter how much he loved Aramis or how much the man pouted. He was still fairly certain that Constance had a video of his rendition of “Poker Face” complete with elaborate dance routine and a sequined hat that Aramis had provided. 

It was embarrassing to say the least, but he had gotten Aramis to stop sulking. 

Porthos cracked his neck, glancing up. He could see the entire floor from his office. That was one of the benefits to having a glass office. The entire floor could also see into his office. That was one of the unfortunate disadvantages that Porthos had discovered when he and Aramis had started dating. Therefore, he and Aramis had come up with an alternative solution whenever Aramis came to visit. The supply closet had seen more action in the past several months then it probably had ever seen. He was almost certain that Constance, Flea, and d’Artagnan had a running bet on whether or not Athos would start locking the supply closet whenever Aramis dropped by for a visit. 

It was a little before midnight when Porthos finally finished all the paperwork. He signed the last paper before slipping it into the folder. He planned to drop it off in Ninon’s office on his way out of the building. Perhaps Alice and Flea would still be working and they could recommend a good place from which to pick up take up. Porthos hoped that he could appease Aramis with an offering of food and, if it was very good food, avoid a repeat of the Lady Gaga incident. 

Porthos stood up and stretched his muscles, sore from leaning over his desk all afternoon. He looked out the window, his breath fogging up the glass. Porthos was staring at the view when there was a giant crash behind him. 

He spun around and saw Aramis lying on the ground outside his office. The glass window next to the door had a new smudge marks on it. Porthos was torn between checking to see if Aramis was okay and taking a picture. 

“What are you doing here?” Porthos asked. He was expecting to see Aramis when he got home, not on the floor of his office. 

“I was coming to surprise you,” Aramis replied. His hands were over his face, muffling his voice. Porthos noticed a bag of Italian takeout on the floor. 

“Did you forget about the door?” Porthos chuckled. 

“Fuck off,” Aramis groaned. “I think my nose it broken.” Porthos crouched down next to Aramis. He hoped that the cleaning crew could get the blood out of the carpet. 

“Let me see,” Porthos said. He pulled Aramis hand away from his face, examining the bloody mess. He gave the swollen nose a small prod. 

“Ahhh, you fucker,” Aramis hissed. He recoiled from Porthos, flailing wildly. “That hurts!”

“Yeah, that’s busted,” Porthos chuckled. 

“It’s not funny,” Aramis growled. He pouted and Porthos started laughing even harder. Even with the swollen nose and swelling face, Porthos still thought that Aramis was the most handsome man he had ever met. 

“Common let’s get you up,” Porthos said. It was hard to sound concerned with Aramis still pouting. 

“My good looks are gonna be ruined,” Aramis whined. 

“Trust me,” Porthos laughed, kissing Aramis on the top of his curly hair. “You’ve still got them.”

“Am I prettier than Athos?” Aramis asked teasingly. 

“Don’t push it,” Porthos replied. When Aramis was on his feet, Porthos grabbed a handful of napkins out of the takeout bag, handing them over.

Aramis scoffed. “No way is Athos prettier than this.” 

“Come on,” Porthos laughed. “Let’s get you to the hospital.” 

“Don’t think you’re getting off this easy,” Aramis replied. “I’m still pissed at you.”

“Not my fault you missed the door,” Porthos said. 

“Missing our anniversary,” Aramis said a touch of exasperation in his voice. 

“I know,” Porthos replied. “I’m not singing anymore Lady Gaga.”

“Of course,” Aramis said. “I’ve got Taylor Swift in mind.” Porthos resisted the urge to push him into the wall.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You can find me on Tumblr at who-in-221b.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 2: "Where's the remote?" 
> 
> Tags: Established Portamis, Aramis being a dumbass (per usual)

Porthos dug through the couch cushions with increasing frustration. His show was on in five minutes and he still couldn’t find the damn remote. He had already checked every usual place that it might have ended up. Last night, he and Aramis had watched a movie and Porthos could have sworn that he left the remote on the coffee table. However, the remote had completely vanished. 

He was now looking in all the random places that the remote could have ended up. He had checked behind the television and underneath it. Porthos was now using his phone as a flashlight and looking under the couch when a small snicker distracted his search. He sat back on his heels and glared at Aramis, who was leaning against the wall and watching Porthos with a happily innocent look that never failed to make Porthos suspicious. 

“Where’s the remote?” He demanded. If Aramis was here that meant he was gloating and that meant that he had hidden the remote. Aramis grinned wickedly and shrugged. Porthos glared at him. However, Aramis had proven himself so far to be immune to any of Porthos’ glares. Much to Porthos’ annoyance. 

“Aramis,” Porthos growled. 

“You’re always busy,” Aramis pouted. “And I’m bored.” 

He could not believe that Aramis had hidden the remote. “I’ve waited all week for this episode,” Porthos said. “There was a huge cliffhanger on the last episode.” 

“It’ll record,” Aramis replied.

“Spoilers, Aramis!” Porthos exclaimed. “You know that Flea gets some twisted satisfaction by texting me spoilers. Remember when she saw the Game of Thrones season finale before me. She ruined that whole episode! ”

“Turn off your phone then,” Aramis said. He crossed his arms petulantly. Porthos wanted to strangle him. 

This was not the first time that Aramis had made it difficult for Porthos to watch one of his shows. Several weeks ago, Aramis had taken and hidden all the batteries for the television remotes. He had even gone so far as to hide the spare batteries that Porthos kept in the coffee table drawers. Porthos had been forced to steal the batteries from Aramis’ alarm clock. Something that had pissed Aramis off in the morning, but Porthos thought that he deserved it. Now Porthos kept a spare pair of batteries hidden in the flowerpot. 

“Dammit Aramis,” Porthos growled. He went back to digging around in the couch cushions. Maybe Aramis had been a moron and hidden it in plain sight. 

Aramis grinned again. “Good luck finding it,” he taunted Porthos in singsong tone. 

Porthos was going kill him. Kill him and bury the body in the backyard. He could probably get Athos to help him hide the body and dispose of any of the evidence. Who knew how many times Aramis had annoyed Athos half to death. Porthos was honestly surprised that Athos hadn’t never tried to murder Aramis. He was half convinced that it was going to happen one of these days. 

“I swear to god Aramis,” Porthos muttered darkly under his breath. He pulled the couch cushions off the couch completely. He loved Aramis dearly, but there were some days where even he wondered why he put up with so much. 

“Cold,” Aramis taunted. Porthos threw him a glare, but Aramis was too busy picking at his nails to notice it - or he was ignoring Porthos deliberately. Porthos was willing to put his money on the latter. 

He started pocking around the DVDs on their shelves. Aramis had an unhealthy obsession with sci-fi and Porthos loved anything with fantasy elements. Therefore, their shelves were stacked with everything from Lord of the Rings to Doctor Who and everything in between. There was also the random documentary or drama, courtesy of Athos. 

“Freezing cold,” Aramis said happily. “You’re in like ice cube cold territory.” 

Porthos refrained from throwing one of the pillows at his head with difficulty. “Knock it off, Aramis,” he said. 

“What?” Aramis asked innocently. “I’m being helpful.” 

“You’re being fucking obnoxious, is what you’re being,” Porthos muttered under his breath as he looked around the living room for other hiding spots. 

Sure, there were a lot of nooks and crannies around the house that Aramis could have hidden the remote anywhere, but Porthos knew that the man would get a gleeful sort of satisfaction by keeping it right under Porthos’ nose.

“Cold,” Aramis said again. “This time it’s more of a North Pole type of cold.” Porthos growled in frustration. 

“Aramis,” Porthos said. “Tell me where the remote is.”

“Nope,” Aramis replied, popping the p. “You’re gonna have to find it.”

“Or get you to tell me,” Porthos said. He advanced towards Aramis, who was still leaning against the wall, but looking a great deal more nervous now that Porthos had abandoned the search for the remote. 

“What makes you think I’ll tell you,” Aramis replied, a tad more breathlessly as Porthos stopped right in front of him. Aramis tried to edge around Porthos, but Porthos seized his hands, effectively pinning him to the wall. 

“I think I can think of one or two ways to get you to talk,” Porthos growled softly. 

Porthos cut of whatever Aramis’ retort was by sneaking a hand underneath his shirt. 

“That’s not gonna work,” Aramis coughed. “And you’re still nowhere near to the remote.” 

“Sure it is,” Porthos replied. Aramis scoffed, squirming a bit as Porthos ran his finger lightly across his stomach and chest. 

Porthos grinned and dug his fingers a little harder into Aramis side. He had inadvertently found out that Aramis was very ticklish and Porthos fully intended to use that to his advantage. 

“Stop,” Aramis laughed, trying to wiggle free. But it was no use, Porthos was stupidly strong and Aramis had stupidly told him where he was most ticklish. 

“You gonna give me the remote,” Porthos asked. Aramis was laughing so hard he was nearly crying.

“Fine!” Aramis cried he could barely get the words out through fits of laughter. “I give up! Stop and I’ll tell you.” 

Porthos stopped, waiting for Aramis to catch his breath. “My show is going to start any minute now.”

“I tapped it to the underside of the lamp,” Aramis said. 

“Thank you babe,” Porthos replied. He gave a scowling Aramis a quick kiss and went to retrieve the remote from under the lamp. Aramis had used tape that closely matched the lampshade. It looked suspiciously like the tape that d’Artagnan had. 

Aramis curled up next to Porthos with a bowl of popcorn and made fun of the show. Porthos alternated between shushing him and texting Flea the spoilers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You can find me on Tumblr at who-in-221b


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 3 - "The skirt is short on purpose."
> 
> Tags: Constance/Anne (Queen Anne), flirting

“How’s it looking Connie?” Anne called into the dressing room. 

Absent-mindedly she flipped through a trashy magazine that had been sitting on the table. She was currently sitting outside the dressing room in one of the overly stuffed armchairs. Constance had been in the dressing room for over ten minutes now. 

Anne had picked her out a rather gorgeous clubbing outfit and was waiting to see what it looked like on her. She had high hopes that Constance would look stunning in the outfit. Anne was just waiting for her to come out of the dressing room. It wasn’t that complicated of an outfit, it shouldn’t be taking her that long to get it on. 

Inside the dressing room, Anne could her Constance zip one of the zippers close. “I can’t wear this thing in public,” Constance exclaimed. She sounded mortified.

Anne laughed, still flipping through the magazine. “It’s just a skirt dear.” 

“This is not a skirt,” Constance said loudly. It was hard to say if she sounded more indignant or affronted. “I don’t think this can even count as clothing! There’s barely any fabric here.” 

Apparently, Constance was not as enamored with the outfit as Anne was. In fact, Constance seemed to hate the outfit with a burning passion. Which was a shame because Anne was almost certain that the outfit would have everybody looking at Constance when she went out. 

“You asked for clubbing cloths,” Anne informed Constance. “Those are clubbing cloths.”

“There is no way I can wear this in public,” Constance said. 

Anne rolled her eyes and threw the magazine back onto the table. “At least let me see what you look like.” 

Constance emerged from the dressing room with a scowl and flushed cheeks. She was dressed in a tight black skirt, low cut blue shirt, and red heels. Anne looked her up and down slowly, smiling slightly. Constance tried her hardest not to read too much into Anne’s smile. 

“This skirt is too short,” Constance complained again. The red flush on her cheeks darkened as she attempted to pull the fabric down. 

“The skirt is short on purpose,” Anne replied. She stepped up behind Constance, turning her to face the mirror. 

Constance frowned at her reflection. “I look ridiculous.”

It wasn’t any shorter than the skirt Anne was currently wearing, Constance realized, but Anne could wear a fucking paper bag and still look effortlessly gorgeous. That thought made Constance scowl even more. She looked like an idiot. There was absolutely no way that she could pull off anything this hot. 

The heels alone would be an absolute nightmare to walk in, let alone try to dance. Constance tripped over flat surfaces when she wasn’t wearing shoes, put her in heels and it was a recipe for disaster. Add the awkwardness of a shorter than necessary skirt and it was looking like a terrible idea. 

“Please,” Anne scoffed gently. “You look downright sexy.” Constance’s cheeks turned a deeper shade of pink as she looked at herself in the mirror. 

The blue shirt did bring out the color in her eyes and the fabric was really soft. She still felt self-conscious in the skirt though. The heels were a fun color, but there was no way she would be actually be able to walk around in public without someone to lean on. He balance was already wobbly enough and she certainly was not looking for an excuse to lean more against Anne. 

Anne thought she looked sexy and that thought certainly did not make Constance’s heart beat fast. Nor did the fact that Anne was standing directly behind her, her breath warm on Constance’s neck. The heels were definitely the reason that Constance’s knees were going all wobbly like jelly. 

“Here, if you put your hair up like this,” Anne said as she gathered Constance’s soft brown hair into a messy bun. 

Constance was having difficulties focusing on anything else than keeping her breathing even. She certainly and most definitely was not thinking about how she could definitely get used to Anne running her fingers through her hair. 

Definitely not. 

“And if you wear your leather jacket. The one that you got for your birthday last year,” Anne continued. “You’ll be a knockout.” 

“You sure?” Constance asked, a bit breathlessly. She tried to will the redness in her cheeks to go away. This was not high school and Constance did not need to be blushing like a school girl in love. Moreover, she was not in love with Anne and her sweet smile or the way she always knew how to make Constance laugh. 

There was absolutely no crushing going on. 

“Oh positively” Anne grinned. 

Constance was about to reply when the soft press of warm lips to her exposed neck distracted her. She almost jumped away from Anne in shock. 

Was that what she thought it was? Constance tried to control her breathing. It would be incredibly unromantic if she were to faint over one sort of maybe kiss.

“Anne,” Constance squeaked. 

“M-hmm,” Anne murmured softly. She wrapped an arm around Constance’s waist, dropping her head onto Constance’s shoulder. Constance didn’t stop herself from leaning back into the embrace.

“What was that?” Constance asked. She knew what it was, but she wasn’t going to admit it first. 

“A kiss,” Anne smiled. “Did you not like it?”

“No,” Constance stammered. “I’m mean yes – wait. I have no idea.”

Anne laughed and pressed another kiss to her cheek. “You’re adorable.”

“Shut-up,” Constance glared at their reflections. “I am not adorable.” 

“Cutie,” Anne smirked.

“Anne,” Constance said.

“Darling.”

“Quiet.”

“Hot stuff.”

“Stop,” Constance laughed. Her cheeks were practically glowing. Anne was coming up with the dumbest nicknames.

“Only if you agree to go on a date with me?” Anne grinned.

“Yes!” Constance said quickly. She cleared her throat. “I mean sure, if you want.”

“Tomorrow,” Anne said. “And you wear this outfit.”

Constance rolled her eyes, but didn’t protest as Anne placed another kiss to her cheek.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You can find me on Tumblr at who-in-221b.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 4: Fourth of July
> 
> Tags: established OT3, Flea/Ninon, and implied Constance/d'Artagnan
> 
> Sorry this one is late. I was at Convergence and I forgot to post it. Sorry! Hope you enjoy it anyways!

“He’s gonna hurt himself,” Porthos muttered. He flipped the burgers on the grill. D’Artagnan and Aramis were crouched over a worryingly large pile of fireworks. 

“Which one?” Athos snorted. He had his deck chair situated in what little amount of shade that was left on the wooden deck. There wasn’t much shade left, but he was unwilling to admit defeat and even less unwilling to admit that Porthos was right about needing sunscreen. 

“Does it matter?” Porthos replied. “I told you it was a mistake to let them go by themselves. It was like setting a bunch of children loose in a candy shop.” Athos grumbled something under his breath as Porthos adjusted the heat of the grill. “What was that?”

“I said you could have gone with them,” Athos grumbled. 

It had been a sight to see when they had gotten back from the shop. Both Aramis and d’Artagnan had come back with several arm full of fireworks. Last year Porthos had been able to limit it to just a handful of fireworks. 

Porthos smirked. “I went last year; it was your turn this time.” Athos scowled at him from his rapidly shrinking piece of shade. 

Porthos turned off the grill and pilled the food onto a plate. The bandanna on his head was drenched in sweat. Both a combination of the heat of the sun and the heat from the grill had Porthos dripping like a faucet. He set the plate of grilled food down on the folding table and went inside to at least wash off and change his shirt before everyone else arrived. 

He had just stepped back outside when there was the sound of a car horn from their driveway, followed by several loud hellos. Constance, Flea, and Ninon got out of Ninon’s red mini cooper. 

“Girls are here!” Aramis shouted. 

“I can see that,” Porthos yelled back, waving to three women climbing up the steps. 

Each of them had brought something to the party. Ninon was balancing a large plastic container of pasta salad and a plastic covered plate of her Fourth of July themed treats. Constance was carrying a plastic bowl of fruit and a pack of soda. Flea was carrying an armful of fireworks. 

Porthos caught sight of what Flea had clutched in her arms. “I told you not to bring anymore fireworks!” He scolded her. Flea stuck out her tongue in response as she continued past the porch and up the hill a few feet to where the other two pyromaniacs were organizing their worryingly large pile. 

Ninon set down the items she was carrying on the table. “She said you can never have enough fireworks,” she stated.

“We have enough to blow up the entire block,” Porthos growled as he went inside to grab paper plates and napkins.

Athos finally gave up on trying to avoid the sun and abandoned his now nonexistent patch of shade to take the sodas from Constance. “Porthos just finished cooking,” he said. 

“Oh good,” Constance said eagerly. “I’m starved.” 

“You’re always hungry,” Athos replied with a smirk. Constance flipped him off as Porthos exited the house. 

“Behave,” Porthos told her, catching sight of her rude hand gesture. “Or no dessert for you.”

Ninon perked up at that. “Dessert?”

“Yes Miss Sweet tooth,” Porthos replied. “Athos and Aramis made a cake.” He smiled fondly at Athos, who blushed. “Well, Aramis made a cake.” 

Athos was still blushing as he sipped from his soda. “I did help,” he muttered.

“You sat in the kitchen, drinking wine, and making unhelpful comments,” Porthos retorted with a wide grin. Before Constance could grab a burger, Porthos shoved a plate in her hands. “Use a plate you heathen.” 

She made a face behind Porthos’ back when he turned away. Athos hastily turned his laugh into a less than believable cough when Porthos gave him an odd look. 

“Should someone bring the idiots some food?” Ninon asked.

Athos glanced at the grassy hill. “They’ll eat once their done,” he replied.

Porthos still had reservations about having a small arsenal of fireworks collecting in their backyard. “They are gonna get the cops called on us,” he complained. 

“Let them have their fun,” Constance laughed. “I know d’Artagnan has been looking forward to this for a while. He hasn’t stopped talking about this for at least two months now.” 

“Porthos!” Aramis yelled. “Bring me a burger?” 

“Get it yourself!” Porthos hollered back.

“Please?” Aramis said. “And one for Flea and the pup?” There was an indignant yelp and the sound of a scuffle. D’Artagnan had tackled Aramis and the two of them were rolling down the hill. Porthos rolled his eyes, but started to put together a plate. 

“I’ll bring it to him,” Constance said. “Once you know, they’re done fighting.” 

~

Darkness descended around the house rather quickly that night. Everyone had settled in lawn chairs on the driveway next to the house. Further, down the driveway, Flea, d’Artagnan, and Aramis had set up a place to shoot off the fireworks. 

“Ladies and gentleman,” Aramis called. He was standing further down the driveway. Next to him crouched Flea and d’Artagnan, both of who were ready with their lighters to set off the first round of fireworks. “Welcome to the first ever, soon to be annual, Musketeer’s fireworks display.” 

“I told him not to call it that,” Athos grumbled.

“Here,” Constance said. She passed around the earplugs that she had brought. Athos refused, but both Porthos and Ninon accepted them gratefully. 

Ninon wrapped her blanket more tightly around her shoulders. “This should be fun,” she said. 

Porthos smiled as Athos grumbled something under his breath in the chair directly next to him. He tucked the blanket more firmly around both of themselves, wrapping his arm around Athos’ shoulder as Athos leaned against Porthos. 

“Light ‘em up!” Aramis said gleefully. He crouched down and light one of the canisters while Flea and d’Artagnan did likewise.

They all took off running down the driveway, towards the spectators. There was three loud cracks and the fireworks went whistling into the sky. Above their heads, they exploded with a loud bang and into spectacular sparks of color. 

D’Artagnan ended up sprawled at Constance’s feet after the mad dash to the chairs. 

“What did you think?” He asked with a elated grin. 

“Ooohh, ahhhh,” she replied sarcastically. D’Artagnan rolled his eyes as Aramis yelled for him to come help with the next round of fireworks. 

The rest of the evening continued in much the same fashion. Flea and the boys lighting the fireworks and then running like hell away from them. Porthos was certain he would have gone deaf if not for the earplugs. It was almost midnight by the time Aramis yelled, ‘Grand Finale.’

“Bout time,” Athos grumbled. Porthos laughed and placed a gentle kiss to the top of his head. 

The grand finale took close to ten minutes and it was ten minutes of glorious, insane, chaotic noise. When it ended, everyone’s eardrums were ringing. 

“Did you guys like?” Aramis shouted loudly. He skipped over to them. The fireworks seemed to have dulled his hearing because he was practically shouting. 

“Good show dear,” Porthos said. Even Athos offered a smile. “Let’s get you to bed.” Aramis looped himself over their shoulders and let them half carry half drag him inside and up to bed. Ninon and Flea followed them inside to grab their bags. 

That left Constance and d’Artagnan stuck with the job of cleaning up the driveway. 

“Thanks for coming,” d’Artagnan said. “And thanks for the ear plugs.” 

Constance grinned. “No problem. I bet Flea and Aramis are gonna regret not taking them.” 

“At least Athos and Porthos will be,” d’Artagnan replied. 

“At least you don’t have to ride home with Flea,” Constance said. D’Artagnan laughed and then paused; he seemed to be teetering on the edge of saying something. Before he could, the door to the house opened with a bang. 

“Let’s go Connie!” Flea yelled. She was dragging Ninon to the car. “You two can flirt some other time.” 

It was hard to say whether Constance or d’Artagnan turned a deeper shade of red. 

“I guess I’ll see you later then,” d’Artagnan said. 

“Bye,” Constance replied. She paused before darting forward, placing a quick kiss on d’Artagnan’s cheek. “I really liked the show.” 

“Oh – um thanks,” d’Artagnan replied weakly. Constance flashed a smile and ran towards the car. D’Artagnan touched his cheek and smiled to himself, before turning around. 

“Happy 4th!” He yelled. She stuck her head out the window and waved back as Ninon drove out of the driveway. 

“Happy 4th d’Artagnan!” Constance called. Then the car pulled onto the street and disappeared. D’Artagnan finished putting away the chairs and blankets, before going inside and shutting off the outside light. Upstairs he could hear the others getting ready for bed. 

“Night guys,” d’Artagnan muttered to himself with a smile. He grabbed a blanket, collapsed onto the couch and was asleep within minutes.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 5: You offered me a lift home but now the car has broken down in the middle of nowhere and it’s like 3am
> 
> Tags: OT3, established Porthos/Athos, implied Flea/Ninon
> 
> Again sorry about the lateness, Convergence is once again to blame.

Athos checked his phone for the fiftieth time. 

D’Artagnan was supposed to have picked him up from work about an hour ago, but his car had broken down and Porthos was out of town. Athos had worked too late to take the bus, which he hated anyways. He was go back inside and sleep on his office couch when there were footsteps behind him.

Looking up from his phone, Athos came face to face with Aramis, the man that Treville had just hired. He had only seen him briefly from a distance, but Athos thought that it was rather unfair that nobody had told him that Aramis was this attractive. He had dark hair and he was looking at Athos curiously.

“Are you waiting for a ride?” Aramis asked keys in hand. 

“No,” Athos replied, a little more brusquely then intended. There was a pause as Aramis continued to stare at him. “My friend was going to, but he’s not coming.” 

“It’s too late for the buses,” Aramis said. “Did you want a lift?’ 

“It's alright, I can sleep in my office,” Athos replied. “I have to be back here tomorrow anyways.” He had wanted to go home, but he didn't want Aramis to drive out of his way to drop him off. The house was also quieter with Porthos out of town and Athos hated sleeping by himself. 

“Common,” Aramis insisted. “Let me give you a ride or at least sit with you while you decide.” 

Athos looked at his watch again, it was one am and he was tired and had been looking forward to having a glass of wine when he got home. 

“Fine,” he grumbled. He followed Aramis out of the building and to the parking lot, gave Aramis his address and slid into the front seat of the car. 

It was only a twenty-minute ride and they passed the time engaging in small talk. Which Athos usually hatted, but with Aramis, he found it enjoyable, or at least tolerable. He discovered that Aramis liked spicy food and had a large family. Athos was distracted enough by the conversation that it was almost forty minutes later when he realized he was supposed to be at his house. 

“We should have reached my house by now,” Athos said. 

“Really?” Aramis replied. “Are we close?” 

“Nothing around here looks familiar,” Athos said, looking out the windows. It was hard to discern anything when it was this dark out, but he was certain they were nowhere near his house. 

“Let me double check the directions,” Aramis muttered. He attempted to pull his phone out of his pocket, but the car engine sputtered and started emitting smoke. 

“Pull over,” Athos ordered. Aramis pulled the car over, turning the engine off. The only light came from the extremely dim yellow overhead lights and the phone that Aramis had finally managed to pull out of his pocket. 

“Sorry,” Aramis said. He offered Athos a guilty smile. “I’m borrowing the car from my friend and she said that it sometimes acts up. Don’t suppose you know anything about car engines?” 

Athos glared at him. “I don’t drive.” 

“Like at all?” Aramis asked, sounding surprised. Athos continued to glare at him until Aramis raised his hands in mock surrender. “Fine, fine, I won’t ask any more questions. Let me just figure out where we are.” 

While Aramis fiddled with his phone, Athos was left to brood about his current situation. Which was no better than he previous one, in fact Athos was certain that he would have been much more comfortable sleeping on his office couch then stuck in the middle of nowhere with Aramis. 

“I have no idea where we are,” Aramis finally admitted after several minutes. The clock on the dashboard showed that it was almost three am. Athos sighed and dug out his own phone. 

He hadn’t wanted to call Ninon. She always made fun of his refusal to learn to drive and she was going to love this. 

“Hello?” A groggy voice answered when he dialed Ninon's number. 

“Ninon?” Athos asked. 

“No, it’s Flea,” came the response. “This Athos?” 

"Yes, can you get Ninon?” 

“Do you need a ride?” Flea sounded much more awake and much more gleeful. 

“I need you to get Ninon on the phone,” Athos growled. He was aware of Aramis looking at him questioningly. 

“Athos,” Ninon’s light voice asked after a moment. “Do you possibly need a ride?” 

“Yes,” Athos replied. “Aramis’ car broke down.” 

“Aramis?” Ninon sounded intrigued. 

“Not now,” Athos said. He was barely going to be able to get any sleep at this point. He read of the names of the streets that they were by and Ninon promised to pick them up in less than ten minutes. 

“Who’s Ninon?” Aramis asked curiously. 

Athos leaned back the seat and stared at the beige fabric on the ceiling of the car. “She’s an old friend. She'll drive use to my house and you can sleep on my couch. We’ll call a tow truck in the morning.” 

“How do you get to work usually?” Aramis asked. Athos threw him a look. "If you don't drive I mean." He had also reclined his seat back, but was looking at Athos instead of the ceiling. 

“Usually Porthos drives me,” Athos said, smiling slightly to himself. Porthos always teased Athos about that, but unlike with Ninon, Athos didn't mind. Aramis asked a few more questions, but Athos didn't really mind answering them. Athos couldn’t help but noticing that Aramis seemed a little sad when Athos mentioned that Porthos was his boyfriend. 

He hoped that Porthos was back tomorrow morning to drive them both to the office. He also wouldn't mind if Porthos was able to meet Aramis. 

Ninon’s headlights shone through the windshield as she pulled in front of their car. As they got into her car, Athos thought that a lengthy breakfast might not be out of order too. 

A sick day might be a good idea.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day 6: 'Knowing they would be quick to jump to conclusions, she figured it would be best for him to hide under the bed.'
> 
> Tags: established Constagnan, implied Aramis/Anne, college AU

Constance had lost track of the time. Although she was going to blame d’Artagnan for distracting her. She was also going to blame him for the rapidly forming hickey on the side of her neck. Constance had forgotten that Anne and Aramis were going to be coming over to her dorm to study for Anatomy. 

Really, this whole situation was all d’Artagnan’s fault. Him and his stupid mouth and hands.

So when there was a knocking on her dorm room, she knew that Anne and Aramis would be here. She also knew that they would be quick to jump to conclusions about why d’Artagnan was in her room and that those would probably be correct conclusions. Constance did not necessarily feel like dealing with Anne and Aramis catching d’Artagnan in her room. Therefore, she figured it would be best for him to hide under her bed. 

D’Artagnan was a tad bit confused when Constance suddenly shoved him off her bed. Nevertheless, he allowed himself to be pushed under the bed with only mild complaining. Constance adjusted the blankets, smoothed her hair and skirt, and double checked her reflection before opening the door. 

“Hey Connie!” Anne said brightly. 

“What took you so long?” Aramis asked. He was carrying both his and Anne’s backpacks. 

“Uh – I was cleaning,” Constance said lamely. Aramis raised an eyebrow, but didn’t say anything else. 

They were halfway through reviewing the second chapter of the textbook when Aramis noticed the hickey that was on Constance’s neck. 

“What’s that?” Aramis asked, leaning in for a closer look and attempting to poke the bruise with his pencil. 

“Nothing,” Constance said, a little too quickly. She slapped her hand over her neck, batting away Aramis’ pencil. 

Anne didn’t even look up from her textbook. “Aramis, leave Constance alone,” she said. 

“But she has a hickey,” Aramis exclaimed. “Our own sweet, pure, dear Constance has a hickey.”

“Aramis, grow up,” Constance scolded. She could feel her face turning red. Aramis was being overly dramatic again. This was why she had made d’Artagnan hide. 

“You’re blushing!” Aramis said excitedly. He was practically bouncing on the bed. “Anne, she’s blushing!” He wacked Anne on her arm to her attention.

“Yes, dear I see that,” Anne said. She finally glanced up from her textbook. “Who gave you the hickey?”

“It’s not a hickey,” Constance protested. Both Anne and Aramis laughed.

“That is most definitely a hickey, “Aramis said. 

“What are you?” Constance snapped. “An expert on hickeys?”

Anne laughed. “You’re avoiding the question.” 

Constance glared at both of them. They were never going to get this studying done. Not with the two of them on her case. Then there was muffled cough from under the bed. Constance snapped her textbook shut to try to cover the sound. 

Dammit d’Artagnan.

Aramis and Anne didn’t seem to react to the cough, but both of them were excellent actors. Something that has worked to Constance’s advantage in the past, but today it seemed that it might be working against her. 

“It looks new,” Aramis said. “Definitely wasn’t there when we got here.” He was still trying to get a closer look at the hickey. Constance nudged him off the bed with her foot. 

“But nobody left,” Anne said. She shared a look with Aramis, who was now sprawled on the floor. 

Constance narrowed her eyes at them. “What?” She demanded. “What is with you two? Remember, we’re here to study.” That look never boded well. 

Anne looked at her with an innocent smile that Constance did not buy for a second. “Let’s get back to studying. The test is tomorrow,” she said. “Aramis, stop goofing off.” 

Constance was still unconvinced, but if the two of them were willing to drop it, she would happily let them. Or at least if Anne was going to drop it, she would take what she could get at this point. 

She did think that it was rather unfair for Aramis to be pestering her about one hickey on her neck when she has seen him practically covered in them. Well, not covered, but definitely more than one. 

And there had been the one time she had walked in on him and Anne in a rather compromising position. Therefore, she was fairly certain that Aramis at least owed her for not telling the others. 

Especially since she hadn’t told Athos. Aramis definitely owed her for that. 

Aramis climbed onto the bed, leaning against the wall and propping his textbook against his bent knees. A couple minutes passed with Anne quizzing the pair of them and Aramis getting most of the questions wrong. 

Then the sound of Gwen Stefani’s “Holla Back Girls” coming from under Constance’s bed derailed their studying again. D’Artagnan had left his phone on and apparently, he had left it on full volume. Constance knew who was calling because Aramis had insisted on setting that as his ringtone of everyone’s phone. 

She was going to murder the pair of them. 

“I knew it!” Aramis cried gleefully. He bolted off the bed, brandishing his phone like a trophy. “D’Artagnan, get out here.” 

“Fuck off Aramis,” d’Artagnan said, his muffled. Aramis was too busy dragging him out to reply. 

“Nice job there,” Anne teased. “You’re setting a real good example for the rest of the floor.” Constance had turned the same color as a tomato. 

“Shut-up Anne,” Constance replied grumpily. D’Artagnan cast her an apologetic look as Aramis practically danced around her room. 

Constance threw her textbook at Aramis and was quite pleased when it smacked him in the head. Anne tried apologizing in-between laughter. Aramis whinnied that his head hurt and Constance threatened to hurt something that he actually cared about, and then both he and Anne were out of her room. Anne having to physically drag Aramis with her. 

“Sorry,” d’Artagnan apologized. 

Constance checked her watch. She still had twenty minutes before her next class.

“Turn off your phone this time,” she ordered. D’Artagnan grinned and fumbled for his phone.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 7: "Please put me down it’s just a sprained ankle" 
> 
> Tags: OT3, established Athos/Porthos, accidental injury

Porthos could not believe that he was going to be late for work. He swore that he had set an alarm, but apparently it had failed to go off or he had turned it off. Maybe he hadn’t even set it and it was only his imagination telling him that he had set it. Either way, Porthos was going to be extremely late for work and D’Artagnan was going to give him so much crap for it. Last time he was late, Porthos had been stuck doing all of the paper work. 

“Where are you going?” Athos asked sleepily, sitting up in bed. Porthos was busy running around the room, trying to get dressed and eat breakfast at the same time. 

“Work,” Porthos said. He shoved the rest of his bagel into his mouth and nearly tripped over Athos’ discarded shirt. “Got to go babe, I’ll be back for dinner.” Planting a quick kiss to Athos’ forehead, Porthos practically ran out of the apartment and down the stairs, taking the steps two at a time. 

Porthos reached the door and flung it open, crashing right into the startled man on the doorstep. 

“Shit,” Porthos exclaimed. He tried to grab the man, but missed. Instead, he tumbled down the steps, hitting the ground awkwardly. 

“What is wrong with you?” The man snapped. 

“Sorry, late for work,” Porthos replied. He vaguely recognized the man as the new neighbor who had moved in right below their apartment. “It’s Aramis, right?” 

“Yeah,” Aramis said. “Help me up, would you?” 

Porthos quickly descended the couple of steps and grabbed Aramis, pulling him to his feet. Before Porthos let go, Aramis let out a sharp hiss of pain and clutched Porthos arm tightly. He leaned against Porthos, trying to avoid putting weight on his foot.

“You okay?” Porthos asked. He was torn between being worried about Aramis and being worried about being late. 

“Oh yeah, just peachy,” Aramis growled. He attempted to let go of Porthos and walk away, but the minute he put any weight on his foot, Aramis started to fall. Porthos caught him before he could hit the ground. 

“You hurt?” Porthos said. He checked his watch subtly behind Aramis back. At this rate he was so screwed for work, it would almost be better to just call in. 

“Just my pride,” Aramis said with a pained smile. He attempted to walk again, but Porthos just tightened his grip. “And perhaps my ankle. I do believed it’s sprained.”

“Sorry,” Porthos apologized. “Hang on just one minute.” He dug his phone out of his pocket and sent d’Artagnan a text saying that he wasn’t going to be able to make it into work.

“What’s your plan?” Aramis asked. “There is no way I am making it up those steps.” Porthos glanced at the door and then at Aramis, he looked pretty light. 

He grinned at Aramis and then picked him up bridal style. Aramis let out a yelp of protest, but hooked his arms around Porthos’ neck and allowed himself to be carried through the door. Porthos carried him up five flights before Aramis spoke up.

“You can stop here,” Aramis said. “My apartment is right there.”

“Can you walk to the door?” Porthos asked. 

Aramis sighed. “Please put me down it’s just a sprained ankle.”

“At least let me wrap it,” Porthos said. “It’s only one more flight.”

“I feel bad making you carry me,” Aramis admitted. 

Porthos snorted. “I’m the reason you got hurt,” he said. 

It was a relief when Porthos saw the door to his apartment. Aramis wasn’t heavy, but carrying anybody up six flights was bound to make anyone’s arms sore. He hoped that the landlord was going to fix the elevator soon, but everyone above the second floor had been hoping that for the last three months now. 

Porthos was just setting Aramis down on the couch when Athos walked in, a cup of coffee in one hand and the newspaper in the other. He raised his eyebrows at Porthos in question. Before Porthos could respond, Aramis spoke up.

“Don’t suppose you have an extra cup?” 

Athos turned to Porthos. “I thought you were suppose to be at work,” he said. 

“Yeah,” Porthos replied slowly. “I – uh- ran into Aramis on the way out.”

“Literally,” Aramis interrupted with an easy smile. “Then he insisted on tending to my wounds. A perfect gentleman.” 

Porthos was too busy raiding their medicine cabinet and missed whatever Athos’ response was. By the time he got back, he found Aramis, with a cup of coffee in hand, engaged in a heated debate with Athos about some book they had both read. He interrupted their argument to bandage Aramis ankle and give him some pain medicine. After that he retreated to the kitchen to make everyone breakfast. 

Aramis glanced at his watch a while later. “I should get going,” he said, attempting to push himself off the couch. “Thank you for the breakfast.” He winced when his foot hit the ground.

“Stop trying to walk on it,” Porthos growled. He pushed Aramis back on the couch. 

“I can’t stay here,” Aramis exclaimed. 

Athos, who had been reading the newspaper, glanced up. “Is there anyone at your apartment?”

“No,” Aramis replied with a small frown. 

“Then that settles that,” Athos said, returning to his newspaper. “You can stay here until you can at least walk without falling over.” 

Aramis grumbled, but allowed Porthos to throw a blanket over top of him. 

“Are you gonna try to leave again or can we watch this movie in peace?” Porthos asked with a smile. 

“I don’t even understand this movie,” Aramis replied.

“How can you not?” Porthos exclaimed. “It’s a classic!” Athos smiled as the sound of the movie was drowned out by their argument about whether or not Die Hard counted as a classic. It wasn’t the outcome Athos had been expecting when he had turned off Porthos’ alarm this morning, but it was good outcome nonetheless.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 8: “Why are you drawing with chalk?”
> 
> Tags: Portamis, domestic fluff

Aramis was completely and utterly stumped. He had purchased his niece a lovely box of colorful chalk for her 8th birthday, because she had told him quite explicitly that was what she wanted. Aramis was always on top of purchasing presents for everyone. Especially presents for his one and only favorite niece. He had never missed a birthday or holiday in the past. 

Therefore, when Danila said that she had wanted chalk for her birthday, Aramis had gone out and purchased a pack of colored chalk for her that very day. 

That was nearly three months ago. Said birthday was in three hours, Aramis still could not find the chalk anywhere, and he needed to find it in order to wrap it. 

He would have asked Porthos, but Aramis was also having trouble locating him as well. 

There could be absolutely no showing up empty handed to his niece’s birthday party. Porthos was already threatening Aramis’ status of favorite uncle. Aramis’ already endangered status would plummet with the lack of present. He might end up being the least favorite uncle if he did not have the chalk for Danila’s party. 

Aramis did not want to end up in the same boat as Uncle Carlos who never got hugs or fuzzy stickers from Danila. 

Therefore, Aramis had thoroughly searched and ransacked every room in the house, several times. All of the usual places where Aramis hide his presents had been thoroughly searched and then researched. He had even gone so far as to check the places where Porthos usually hid his presents that he bought, usually last minute. 

So far zilch.

Zip.

Nada.

The chalk was absolutely nowhere to be found. Aramis was clueless as to where it could have gone. He knew it couldn’t have disappeared on it’s own, but he was stumped about where he could have hidden it. 

“Porthos!” Aramis yelled. Maybe Porthos would know where the chalk had disappeared too. Perhaps he moved it for some reason or Aramis had just missed it in his increasingly frantic searching. However, there was no answer. Aramis ended up wandering all over the house again. This time trying to figure out where Porthos had disappeared off too. 

Aramis finally managed to locate Porthos outside - in the driveway of all places. The last place he would have thought to look. 

“Babe, have you seen the chalk I bought for Daniela?” Aramis asked as he walked over to where Porthos was crouched. He was still trying to figure out what Porthos was doing on the ground, but one problem at a time. 

Porthos glanced up at Aramis, looking guilty. It took Aramis a minute to figure out why on Earth Porthos looked so guilty. His hands and jeans were covered in different colors of chalk dust and there were a variety of chalk drawings covering a small portion of their driveway. Apparently, Porthos had been at it for a while. 

Aramis had at least found both go the things that he was looking for. 

“Why are you drawing with chalk?” Aramis asked. He was dumbfounded. Of all the things he expected to find Porthos doing, this had not even made the list. 

Porthos glanced up, before looking away just as quickly. “I never really got to as a kid,” he mumbled. 

“Really?” Aramis said. He knew that Porthos had missed out on a lot of things as a kid. But Aramis had at least assumed that one of Porthos’ foster parents would have at least owned a thing of chalk. Come to think of it, he had just assumed that Porthos had gotten to draw with chalk as a kid. That might explain why Porthos had seemed a bit confused about why Aramis was getting Danila chalk for a present. 

“Yeah,” Porthos replied. A slight flush had appeared on his cheeks. He started to get up when Aramis plopped down next to him.

“Hand me some,” he said. “I’ll draw the best dinosaur you’ve ever seen.” Porthos grinned brightly, passing him the chalk that was in his hand. Aramis did not resist the urge to place a kiss on Porthos cheek. 

Aramis did indeed draw the best dinosaur that Porthos had ever seen. Together they managed to cover almost every inch of their driveway in increasingly elaborate colorful chalk creations. Aramis had even managed to convince Porthos to let him trace his outline in chalk. Porthos had proven to be quite the artist when it came to chalk drawings. He had even managed to outdo Aramis in the elaborateness of his designs. 

They were half way through completing a giant flower when Aramis remembered the whole reason he had been looking for the chalk. Porthos managed to calm him down enough to find the car keys and drive to the store. 

When Porthos and Aramis finally arrived at Daniela’s party, they were nearly an hour later then everybody else. They were both also covered in chalk because neither one of them had remembered to change. Aramis had somehow managed to get chalk dust in his hair, giving him the appearance of having grey hair, much to his chagrin. Porthos swore that it was permanently imbedded in his jeans. 

However, they had managed to remember to swing by the store and pick up a brand new pack of chalk. The one that they found had even more colors then the one Aramis had previously bought. Aramis had also grabbed a second one for themselves. Porthos had also got Daniela a giant stuffed teddy bear that he had been saving for Christmas, further threatening Aramis favorite uncle status, but for once, he didn’t care. 

He was happy to see Danila’s excitement at opening her two gifts and at seeing Porthos’ smile when he handed him the pack of chalk. Aramis was also happy to avoid being at Uncle Carlos level on Daniela’s favorite scale. Further proven when she gave him a hug and placed a fuzzy green dinosaur sticker to his party hat.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 9: “Tried to get the candy bar that didn’t drop out of the vending machine and now my hand is stuck can you help me out?"
> 
> Tags: d'Artagnan/Athos (first one for them), another college au

This was not turning out to be d’Artagnan’s night. He had only wanted a little bit of chocolate before he had to actual start his paper. But apparently, a little chocolate was too much to ask for in this world because now his hand was firmly stuck in the machine. He was also out a dollar plus change because the money had been eaten by the stupid vending machine. To add insult to injury, d’Artagnan still had no chocolate. 

D’Artagnan swore loudly as he tried to tug his arm out of the vending machine, but the damn machine was like death trap on his arm. It wasn’t like there were a ton of people wandering the halls this late. Which was both a good and bad thing. There was no one to laugh at him, but there was also no one to help get him unstuck. 

There were footsteps at the end of the hall and d’Artagnan glanced around to see who might be coming to his rescue. He almost nearly swore again. It would be just his luck that the one person who had to be walking around this late was the rather attractive man from his British Lit class. 

This night just kept getting better and better.

Athos was looking at him with raised eyebrows. D’Artagnan felt his face turning red. His first real conversation with the man and already he looked like an idiot. Great. 

“Hi,” d’Artagnan said. “It’s Athos right?” 

Athos looked surprised that the d’Artagnan even knew his name. They had never actually had a real conversation. Athos had also made it a point to sit as far away from everyone in class and never spoke during discussion. The only reason that d’Artagnan even knew his name was because he kept ending up with Athos’ papers during in class corrections and had maybe fallen a little bit in love with the man’s writing style. The bright blue eyes and brooding stare had also caused d’Artagnan to sometimes get distracted in class.

“I’m in Professor Lang’s Brit lit class. Names d’Artagnan,” he continued. “I’d shake your hand, but well -” He trailed off, nodding his head towards his trapped arm. 

“What did you do?” Athos asked. He almost seemed confused about why d’Artagnan was on the ground. As if it was not obvious, that d’Artagnan was partially stuck in the vending machine. “This one never works.”

“That would have been good to know before,” d’Artagnan said. Of course it would be his luck that the vending machine he tried using would be the one vending machine that everyone else knew was broken. Not like they could have put a sign on it or anything. 

Athos still looked somewhat confused. “Before what?”

"I tried to get the candy bar that didn’t drop out of the vending machine,” d’Artagnan replied. His face had turned so red he looked like a tomato. “Now my hand is stuck can you help me out?”

Athos blinked, putting two and two together. “You got your hand stuck?” 

“Yes I got my hand stuck,” d’Artagnan said. He could not keep the tone of frustration out of his voice. His arm was starting to ache and he still had to finish his paper. “So you can either help or at least do something useful.” 

All he wanted was some damn chocolate. 

Athos crouched down next to him and d’Artagnan forgot about his aching arm at the sight of those blue eyes so close to him. It took both of them a good couple of minutes to figure out how to even get d’Artagnan’s arm free of the vending machine. Athos seemed mildly impressed, but in a slightly annoyed way, with how d’Artagnan had done it. D’Artagnan himself wasn’t even sure how he had managed to get his arm stuck. 

When they did get d’Artagnan’s arm unstuck, both were breathing hard and flushed. D’Artagnan’s hair was sticking to his forehead. 

“Thanks,” d’Artagnan said. He was lying on the hall floor, not caring about how dirty it was or when the last time anybody had swept was. He was trying to massage some feeling back into his arm, which was tingling rather painfully. 

“No problem,” Athos said, sounding a tad out of breath, his face somewhat flushed. He was sitting on the ground, leaning against the vending machine. “Porthos and I had to get Aramis’ foot unstuck from this vending machine last year.” 

“Constance was telling me about that,” d’Artagnan laughed. He hadn’t realized that this was the Athos that Constance had been trying to introduce him to until just now. “She failed to mention that the vending machine still didn’t work.” He was going to have to give her crap for that and also for not telling him that the Athos he had been telling her about was the same as the one she knew. But honestly how common was the name Athos. 

“You should ask her to show you the video,” Athos said, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. D’Artagnan got the feeling that was something that Athos didn’t do often. “How do you know Constance?” 

“Ran into her one day,” d’Artagnan said. “Almost literally. Nearly hit her with my bike, ended up crashing into a tree. Next thing I knew, I was waking up on her couch. She wrapped up my head and everything.”

“You have an interesting way of meeting people d’Artagnan,” Athos said. 

D’Artagnan laughed. “I suppose I owe my rescuer a coffee in return.” 

Athos got to his feet. “Coffee would be nice.” He extended a hand and clumsily helped d’Artagnan get to his feet. D’Artagnan couldn’t help but notice how warm Athos’ hands felt. He almost felt sad when he let go. 

“How’s the arm?” Athos asked. 

“Sore,” d’Artagnan replied. “But I’ll live.”

“I’ll show you where the vending machine that actually works is,” Athos said with the barest hint of a smile. “Wouldn’t want you getting stuck again.”

D’Artagnan grinned, following Athos down the hallway.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 10: “Fuck I feel like I got hit by a car… Wait I did? And it was your car?"
> 
> Tags: implied Athos/Porthos, possible OT3

It was more than a little surprising to Porthos when he woke up in a hospital room. The last thing that he could remember was walking across the street on his break. How he had ended up in the hospital was a mystery. His entire body ached, even his eyes hurt. Porthos wasn’t sure how that was possible. 

“Oh thank god you’re awake,” a voice said sounding relieved. Porthos turned his head slightly, wincing when the small motion made his headache spike. There was a man sitting in the chair next to the bed looking at Porthos with concern. The man had dark curly hair and dark eyes. He was also so incredibly good looking that Porthos was certain that the man was a hallucination cause by a head wound and hospital drugs. 

Porthos had no clue who the man was. 

“The nurse said you have a concussion and broken leg,” the man continued. He looked at Porthos’ leg. Porthos looked to; his left leg was encased in white plaster past the knee. 

“Who are you?” Porthos said his voice was scratchy. He had no idea how long he had been out, but his throat was killing him. 

“Aramis,” the man replied. He handed Porthos a glass of water, nervously fidgeting with his jacket. 

Porthos took a sip of the water. “Do I know you?” He was pleased that his voice wasn’t coming out as a raspy. 

“Not really,” Aramis said with a cough. “Someone named Athos called. He said to tell you that he is on his way from work and to not do anything stupid till he gets here.”

Porthos let out a groan, sinking back into the pillows. He had completely forgotten about Athos. The man was going to be worrying over Porthos’ injuries like an oppressive mother hen. Especially since Porthos had been unconscious when Athos had called and speaking to Aramis probably hadn’t done anything for Athos’ nerves. 

Porthos still was having difficulties remembering how he had gone from crossing the street to the hospital. The concussion and whatever pain meds he was currently on were screwing with his memory. 

He tried to sit up, but that was proving to be more painful than laying still. Porthos gave up, letting out a slight pain filled hiss as he leaned his head back. These hospital pillows were surprisingly quite comfortable. Last time Porthos had been in a hospital was for his appendix and the pillows were not nearly this comfortable. 

“Fuck I feel like I got hit by a car,” Porthos muttered. Aramis let out a noise somewhere between a nervous cough and hastily covered laughter. 

Porthos kept his eyes closed. He could remember vaguely seeing Aramis’ face before this, but looking more worried. A blue car kept swimming in and out of focus. His eyes snapped open.

“Wait I did?” Porthos said slowly half-asking, half-stating. He was staring at Aramis out of the corner of his eyes. “And it was your car?” 

Aramis shifted guilty. “It was an accident,” he muttered. “I wasn’t paying attention and there was a no walking sign.” 

“What about the pedestrian always gets the right of way!” Porthos said incredulously. 

“You practically jumped in front of my car,” Aramis defended. 

Porthos snorted. “I was walking across the street to get lunch,” he replied. “I certainly did not jump in front of your car.” 

He should probably be a lot angrier that Aramis had hit him with a car and also the fact that Aramis did not tell him that he had been hit with a car. In truth, Porthos was a bit more amused then angry. Aramis was glaring at him with a mixture of sullen pride and guilt. All in all, it was hard for Porthos to keep a straight face. 

“Did you tell Athos why I was here?” Porthos asked. Athos would probably murder Aramis when he found out that it had been Aramis’ car that landed Porthos in the hospital. Or Athos would set a pack of lawyers on him. Either way it would not be a good outcome for Aramis.

Aramis’ cheeks flushed slightly. “He was displeased to say the least.”

Porthos laughed at the chastised look on Aramis face. Laughing turned out to be a way worse idea than sitting up had. He tried to breathe deep and ignore the now sharp pain that was erupting along his side. 

“The nurse also said that you might have some cracked ribs,” Aramis said guiltily. 

“Oh really,” Porthos replied sarcastically. His ribs were throbbing painfully. 

“Do you want me to call the nurse?” Aramis asked. He was looking at Porthos with concern, his hand hovering over the call button. 

Porthos shook his head. He was going to have to deal with the nurses when Athos got here and too many pain meds made his head feel all woozy and off balance. He was going to put off having the nurses check him out for as long as humanly possible. 

“I am really sorry,” Aramis apologized once Porthos had his breath back. “How’re you feeling?”

“Like I’ve been hit by a car,” Porthos said with a small smile. 

Aramis winced and mumbled, “I said I was sorry.” 

“Surprisingly this is not the first time that this has happened,” Porthos said. “First time I’ve been hit this hard though.” 

“You’ve been hit by a car before?” Aramis asked. 

Porthos grinned. “Flea’s ex-boyfriend backed into me after I helped her throw him out of her house.”

“Ouch,” Aramis said. 

“Just got a bruise from that,” Porthos continued. “Athos was furious, practically buried the guy in law suits.” 

Aramis’ face blanched slightly at Porthos’ words. He looked like he might be sick. 

“Don’t worry about Athos,” Porthos said. “I’ll keep him from murdering you.”

Aramis offered him a small smile. “That would be much appreciated.”

There was a commotion in the hallway. Porthos smiled as her heard Athos’ authoritative tone. The nurses had much more to worry about then Aramis did.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 11 - You’re the only other person in the room when I break the printer and I’m panicking
> 
> Tags: Athos/D'Artagnan, slight implied Portamis

D’Artagnan was not panicking. He had a huge report that he needed to hand in a copy of and the printer decided that it was going to malfunction and completely stop working in the middle of printing his report.

But, he was not panicking. 

Not yet at least. 

The printer as just refusing to print his essay. No reason to be panicking. He pushed the button again, but still nothing. The printer was broken. 

This could not be happening. D’Artagnan crouched down to make sure that the printer was plugged in. He tried to print the document again, but the printer just sat there and beeped loudly at him. 

“What is wrong with you?” D’Artagnan growled at the printer. This is what he had been reduced too, talking to inanimate objects. A lack of sleep and the possible beginnings of a caffeine overdose were causing him to talk to machines. He pushed several of the buttons in a desperate attempt to get it to work. There was strange mechanical whirring noise and then a clunk. 

D’Artagnan jabbed at the button again, as if the printer miraculously started working in the last two seconds. This was the only printer on campus that was left for d’Artagnan to use. The last two printers that d’Artagnan had attempted to us both ran out of ink while he had been printing. 

As a result, d’Artagnan now had three copies of pages one through six and two copies of pages six through nine. Now he just needed the other ten pages. 

And the printer was broken.

D’Artagnan smacked the top of the printer in frustration. He might be starting to panic at this point. This stupid essay was due at exactly six am and Professor Richelieu was the type of hard-ass professor who wouldn’t accept the paper due a minute late. 

It was already three am because d’Artagnan had been stupid and put off actually typing the paper until last night. He somehow had to figure out how to print his essay in the next three hours or submit himself to redoing the class. But he really didn’t want to take another class with Richelieu. 

He checked the paper in the printer to make sure that it hadn’t run out. D’Artagnan hit all the buttons in desperation and rechecked that there was paper. He was very quickly running out of options of things to hit and check on the printer. Maybe he could call Constance and see if she would let him use her printer. She would be angry that he woke her, especially since she had told him to do this paper earlier then today. 

“Are you done yet?” A voice asked. 

D’Artagnan jumped; he hadn’t realized that there was someone else in the computer room with him. The man behind him was staring at him with piercing blue eyes and a disgruntled expression. 

“Um no,” d’Artagnan replied. “Not really.” 

“Then can you please finish?” The man said. 

D’Artagnan glanced back at the broken printer and then back at the grumpy individual standing behind him. “Not really,” he repeated weakly. 

“Not really,” the man said slowly, raising his eyebrows. “What do you mean not really?” 

D’Artagnan glanced at the queue for the printer. There was his name, twice, and then another name, Athos. This must be Athos in front of him. 

“It’s sort of broken,” d’Artagnan said. 

Athos closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “Does it have paper?”

“Already checked that,” d’Artagnan replied. 

“Ink?’ Athos asked.

D’Artagnan looked at the printer screen again to be sure. “Yep.” 

Athos opened his eyes and stepped around d’Artagnan’s to take a closer look at the nonworking printer. He poked some of the buttons, his brow furrowed,

“Can you fix it?” d’Artagnan asked hopefully. If Athos couldn’t fix it d’Artagnan would be forced to owe Constance another favor. 

“Do I look like maintenance?” Athos replied. 

D’Artagnan wasn’t sure it that was a rhetorical question or not. “No?” 

Athos shot him a glare. “What were you trying to print?”

“My paper for Richelieu’s class,” d’Artagnan said with a yawn. He was utterly exhausted. This was his last big assignment for the semester and this paper would cause him to either pass or fail the class. After this paper was turned in, d’Artagnan was planning to collapse onto his mattress quite happily and sleep for twelve straight hours. 

“You’re in Richelieu’s class too?” Athos said. “He is one of the worst professors. I took his class last semester, only class that I nearly failed. ”

D’Artagnan snorted. “Yeah, I’m looking forward to next semester. I’m taking an English class with Treville.” 

“He’s the best,” Athos said with a half-smile. “Reason I switched my major to English Literature.” 

“That’s my minor,” d’Artagnan replied. The printer emitted a loud beep. “Did you fix it?” He was wide-awake at the prospect of being able to get the rest of his paper. 

“I’m not sure,” Athos said. “Try printing your paper again.” 

D’Artagnan scrambled for his computer, sending the paper to the printer. Both he and Athos looked at the printer. D’Artagnan was holding his breath, waiting for the printer to finally print his paper. A minute passed and then the printer beeped loudly and emitted another metallic clunk. 

D’Artagnan groaned. He was going to have to call Constance. 

“You can use my friend’s printer if you want,” Athos said. D’Artagnan looked up; he was already half-way through dialing Constance’s number. 

“That would be awesome,” he said. “Constance would not be very happy if I woke her.” 

“Their apartment is a little bit of campus, I was trying to avoid going out there this late,” Athos said.

D’Artagnan was able to get his paper printed and turned in on time. Instead of going back to his dorm and sleeping, he decided to thanks Athos by taking him to coffee. He was still incredibly tired, but at least he was able to get caffeine and a phone number out of the whole ordeal.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 12: Teaching the other their native language
> 
> Tags: Portamis, more domestic fluff

Porthos was half way through cooking breakfast when the phone rang. Wiping his hands on a random towel, he grabbed the phone. The number wasn’t familiar, but he figured it might be somebody for Aramis. 

They were almost always getting calls from random numbers. Usually it was a from one of Aramis’ prospective clients and Porthos had learned that it was just best to answer the phone and hope that it wasn’t a telemarketer. Most people were polite enough to not be calling at nine am on a Saturday. 

“Hello?” Porthos’ hesitant greeting was meet with a barrage of words. The women on the other end spoke quickly and in a language that was vaguely recognizable from living with Aramis.

“Sorry, but who is this?” Porthos interrupted the woman when she paused to take a breath. 

“Aramis?” The woman asked her voice more heavily accented than Aramis’, but still with the same warm quality to it. 

Porthos grabbed the spatula to flip his eggs. “Uh – no,” he replied. “This is Porthos.” 

“Oh,” the woman said. “ _¿Dónde está_ Aramis?” 

“Just a minute,” Porthos replied. He pressed the phone to his chest, before yelling upstairs for Aramis. 

Most likely he would still be either in bed, or just waking up. Usually on Saturday mornings Porthos found that it was easiest to bring the breakfast to Aramis. This morning Aramis was apparently awake. There was the sound of feet thundering down the stairs and then Aramis was sliding into the kitchen. 

“What?” Aramis demanded. He looked like he hadn’t been awake for that long. He was only wearing a pair of frayed boxers and fuzzy socks that didn’t match. His usually carefully styled hair was in disarray. 

“Phone’s for you,” Porthos replied. He tossed the phone to Aramis and went back to cooking breakfast. “Do you want bacon?”

“Um yeah,” Aramis said. He glanced at the phone. “Who is it?”

Porthos shrugged. “No idea,” he said. “Some woman, sounded like she as speaking Spanish.” 

“ _Mi mamá_ ,” Aramis groaned. He sat down one of the stools on the other side of the counter where Porthos was cooking. “I was supposed to have called her last night.” He held the phone up to his ear. “ _Hola, mamá_.”

Porthos ignored Aramis’ rapid-fire conversation as he finished making the eggs, adding the bacon to the pan. For several minutes, the only sound in the kitchen was the sizzling of bacon and fast spoken Spanish words. Porthos was setting the plate in front of Aramis when he wrapped up the conversation with his mother. 

“What was that about?” Porthos asked. 

“She calling about my _tía_ ,” Aramis replied with a mouthful of eggs. 

Porthos handed Aramis a handful of napkins and the hot sauce. “Tía?” He asked. The word sounded much less Spanish when he said them compared to when Aramis had. 

“My aunt,” Aramis clarified. He either didn’t notice Porthos stumble or was ignoring it. “My _mamá_ likes to complain about her.” 

“What does dond-“ Porthos struggled to remember the words. “Donde está mean?” 

“ _¿Dónde está?_ ” Aramis asked. 

Porthos nodded, “Sounds about right.” He stole a piece of bacon off Aramis’ plate, making sure to avoid the hot sauce covered eggs. 

He wasn’t a hundred percent certain about the pronunciation. In high school, Porthos had taken French, he had done very well in it and still could get by passably in a conversation. But he was regretting the decision not to learn Spanish ever since meeting Aramis. 

“It means where is,” Aramis explained. “Like – _¿Dónde está el baño?_ ”

“Which means?” Porthos asked. 

Aramis stole a forkful of eggs of Porthos plate. “It means where is the bathroom?” He smirked.

“It’s upstairs,” Porthos replied. 

“ _Está arriba_ ,” Aramis said, he rolled the r. Porthos stole his last bacon strip. 

“Bless you,” Porthos said. He took his and Aramis’ now empty plates, washing them off before he placed them in the dishwasher.

“You know I can teach you some Spanish if you want,” Aramis said. Aramis tried and failed to cover up how excited he sounded at the prospect of teaching Porthos. 

Porthos shrugged. It might be kind of fun, plus Aramis sounded dead sexy when he was speaking Spanish. Something that Aramis had used to his advantage multiple times. 

“ _El desayuno era muy bueno_ ,” Aramis said. Porthos stared at him, frowning slightly. “Your breakfast was very good. Now you say it.” 

“How about something easier?” Porthos asked. “Like hola or something like that.” 

“But you already know what that means,” Aramis said exasperatedly.

“Fine,” Porthos growled. He stumbled his way through the pronunciation and glared at Aramis, who was trying to hold back a smile. 

Aramis cracked a smile. “Pretty good, you’re accent is horrible though.”

“Well excuse me, Mr. Don Juan,” Porthos muttered sarcastically. 

“ _Señor_ ,” Aramis said. Porthos raised an eyebrow, waiting for a definition. “It means Mr,” he continued. “ _Yo soy el Sr. Aramis d'Herblay_. – I am Mr. Aramis d’Herblay. It’s relatively easy to understand once you get the hang of it.”

Porthos snorted. “If you say so.”

“Okay how about this,” Aramis said, smirking slightly. “Translate - _mi novio es aburrido_.”

“No clue,” Porthos replied. He started washing the other dishes as Aramis slide off the stool. Probably to go upstairs and actually put on some cloths, not that Porthos was complaining or anything. 

Maybe this learning Spanish wouldn’t be as fun as he thought. This might be Aramis’ version of payback for the time when Porthos insisted that Aramis learn how to drive a stick shift. The first lesson ended before they had even left the driveway, when Aramis nearly crashed them into the garage. That was the end of Aramis learning to drive a stick shift. 

“It means my boyfriend is boring,” Aramis said, kissing Porthos’ cheek before darting back upstairs. 

“I am not!” Porthos yelled after him. The dishes could wait, Porthos decided. He chased upstairs after Aramis, determined to make him take his comment back. Preferably in English so Porthos could understand him.


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 13 - Chopstick lessons
> 
> Tags: Athos/Aramis, mentions of Constance/d'Artagnan

“This is utterly stupid,” Athos growled. 

Aramis stared at him in disbelief. “Don’t you know how to use chopsticks?” 

They were both seated on Aramis dinged up couch, eating Chinese takeout and watching the first Die Hard movie. Aramis had decided that he wanted to watch all the Die Hard movies and he didn’t want to do it alone. 

Porthos had taken d’Artagnan to a hockey game because the kid had never been to one before. Aramis didn’t have the heart to tell Porthos that not everyone was big hockey fans and that d’Artagnan didn’t really like sports. Flea and Anne were out of town with the rest of the girls for their girls’ weekend. 

That had just left Athos without any plans. 

Aramis had promised Athos food in order to get him to abandon his book reading and come over. The takeout had arrived shortly after they had started the first one and when Aramis had refused to grab forks, he discovered that Athos apparently did not know how to use chopsticks.

“There’s such a thing like forks for a reason, Aramis,” Athos said. He stared at the two small wooden sticks in Aramis hand with contempt. 

“There’s also over a billion people who know how to use chopsticks,” Aramis exclaimed. 

Athos picked at his food with his fingers, trying to find a large piece of chicken. “Good for them,” he muttered. “I will have a fork please.” 

“How has no one noticed that you don’t use chopsticks?” Aramis asked. He used his own chopsticks to steal a chunk of chicken from Athos’ takeout box. 

“Because I use a fork,” Athos growled. “Like a normal person.” He batted away Aramis’ chopsticks. 

Aramis snorted and went back to his noodles. Athos continued to pick at his food. He wanted a fork, but the kitchen was so far away and that would require getting up. It always took him a while to find a comfortable spot on Aramis’ slightly lumpy couch and he was unwilling to get up and loose his slightly none lumpy spot. 

“I can teach you,” Aramis said. 

Athos looked away from John McClane shooting at the bad guys on the screen. “What?” 

“How to use chopsticks,” Aramis said excitedly. He nearly knocked a box of rice to the floor. “It’s really easy, I taught d’Artagnan how.” 

“D’Artagnan used a fork last time we got Chinese,” Athos pointed out. “And he said that you’re teaching method leave a lot to be desired.”

Aramis waved a hand dismissively, still holding his chopstick. A noodle hit Athos in the face. 

“Sorry,” Aramis winced. “But d’Artagnan was a lousy student; he kept checking his phone throughout the whole lesson. It’ll be better for everyone when Constance finally asks him out.” 

Athos smiled. D’Artagnan might very well have a heart attack when Constance asked him out. Hopefully she would do it soon and save everyone the trouble of having to listen to him go on about how beautiful she was. Again. 

“It can’t happen soon enough,” Athos muttered. 

Aramis laughed. “But seriously, it’s not that hard.” He paused the movie, digging a new set of chopsticks out of the takeout bag. “Give me your hand.”

Athos sighed and figured that it was just best to indulge Aramis for five minutes until he admitted defeat and used a fork. 

“So you hold the first chopstick like this,” Aramis instructed. He held Athos hand in his, carefully maneuvering his fingers to where they needed to be to hold the slender piece of wood. “It’s kind of like how you hold a pen, just a bit lower.” 

“So far it’s easy,” Athos said. 

Aramis grinned widely and continued. “This chopstick doesn’t move. This one-” He placed the second chopstick in between Athos’ index and thumb “Does move. It’s how you pick up the food.” 

Athos wasn’t really concentrating on the words that Aramis was saying. The warm pressure of Aramis hands on his distracted him. It wasn’t till Aramis looked at him expectantly that Athos realized he had been asked a question. 

“What?” He growled, annoyed that he had been caught unawares. 

Aramis smirked. “I asked if you wanted to try using them.” 

“If this fails can I use a fork?” Athos asked. He was certain that this was going to fail, dramatically so. 

“Yes you can,” Aramis said, with only the slightest hint of an eye roll. 

Aramis placed his hand over Athos again. This time to show him the proper motions of actually using the chopsticks to pick up food. Athos dropped two pieces of chicken and lost a couple of noodles before he actually managed to get a little bit of food into his mouth. 

“Good start,” Aramis laughed. “You only managed to get the noodles everywhere.” 

“How the hell am I supposed to eat with these?” Athos demanded. They made eating feel a hundred times harder than eating ever should be. 

“Try holding the rice container closer,” Aramis advised. “Otherwise you’ll spill it everywhere and I don’t fancy trying to get it out of this couch.” 

“This couch is a piece of shit,” Athos said. He tried eating with the chopsticks again. This time it was less of a clumsy fumble and he was able to get part of the food into his mouth.

“My couch is comfortable,” Aramis pouted. He looked pleased with how quickly Athos was able to grasp the hang of the chopsticks. The noodles were quickly polished off as Aramis pressed play on the movie. 

Athos picked through his chicken, this time with the chopsticks. Aramis yawned and curled up against Athos side, covering them both with his ridiculously large blanket. Athos was pleased to find that he was able to get the majority of the food from his chopsticks to his mouth. Before the movie ended, Aramis was fast asleep against Athos, snoring away. Athos didn’t bother to tell Aramis about the white rice that had fallen into his hair. He’d find it in the morning.


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 14 - Hide and seek
> 
> Tags: OT3, Athos being a grouch
> 
> Sorry about the late post - went to see a play and forgot to upload

“No,” Athos growled. He glared at Porthos and Aramis over his book. The minute that the pair of them had walked into the living room, Athos knew he wasn’t going to like whatever idea they had planned. 

Aramis pouted and Porthos looked like he was trying his hardest to hide a grin. 

“It’ll be fun,” Aramis pleaded. 

“It might be a little fun,” Porthos added. 

“Aramis has got you roped into this then?” Athos snorted. “We’re a little too old to be playing hide and seek.” 

He looked back down at his book. Fully intent on letting Aramis and Porthos go play their childish game of hide and seek, without him so that he could finally finish this book. Before Athos had even read a page the book was yanked from his hands. Aramis hide behind Porthos before Athos could even get up. 

“Aramis, give me my book,” Athos growled. 

“You get your book back after you play the game,” Aramis said.

Athos glared at him. “Give me my book.”

“No,” Aramis replied, still hiding behind Porthos. 

“Porthos, make him give me back my book,” Athos said. He didn’t care that he sounded childish. This whole situation was childish. 

Porthos glanced from Athos to Aramis, barely concealing the grin on his face. He shrugged at Athos. “One game couldn’t hurt.”

Athos could see that he was outnumbered. “Fine,” he said, throwing his hands up in defeat. “One game, but I get to seek.”

“You’ll just read your book,” Porthos scoffed. Athos scowled at him. Porthos was right, but Athos figured that he could get at least twenty minutes of reading in before the other two would have suspected. 

“I’ll seek,” Aramis exclaimed enthusiastically. “You get to the count of twenty to hide.” 

Aramis closed his eyes and started counting loudly and rather quickly. Porthos and Athos glanced at each other and then ran out of the room, each heading in a different direction. Porthos headed upstairs towards their room and Athos headed to the laundry room in the basement. 

It wasn’t like Athos was all that thrilled about being roped into playing hide and seek, but he’d be damned if Aramis found him before Porthos. There was no way that Athos would willingly loose. Upstairs he could hear Aramis reaching thirteen. There wasn’t a whole lot of hiding options in the basement, but it was too late to try and get upstairs. 

There was several sleeping bags from their last camping trip still hanging up because Aramis was in charge of putting them away and Aramis never put anything away. 

Athos grabbed a box and arranged the sleeping bags around himself and the box. He was adjusting the sleeping bags so that they covered his feet when he heard Aramis distantly shout twenty. 

He realized he should have grabbed his book from Aramis before hiding. The basement was a lot quieter than the living room and the sleeping bags helped muffle the noise coming from the dehumidifier. It was also pleasantly warm. Overall it was quiet cozy. The box that Athos was sitting on wasn’t as comfortable, but Athos found that if he shifted and leaned against the wall at just the right angle, it wasn’t too bad. 

There were footsteps on the basement stairs. Athos sat up trying to look through the sleeping bags to see where Aramis was. It was hard to see anything outside the sleeping bags without being seen. 

“I know one of you is down here,” Aramis said loudly. “I heard footsteps on the stairs.”

Athos knew he should have tried to hide in the upstairs closet. He realized that he was holding his breath and tried to breathe quietly. The sleeping bags felt confined and oppressive. 

“Porthos?” Aramis continued. Athos could hear him shuffling around in the storage room. “Athos?” There was a pause and Aramis walked around the laundry room, halfheartedly looking in the dryer. There was a sigh and the footsteps going back upstairs. 

Athos leaned back against the wall, the sleeping bags providing a comfortable cushion. Athos took a deep breath and let it out slowly. That had been very close. He could sort of see why Aramis really liked playing hide and seek. 

Several minutes passed, with no noise coming from upstairs. It felt like hours but the illuminated hand of Athos’ watch showed that he had only been downstairs for at a little less than fifteen minutes. He wasn’t certain if Porthos had been found yet and he couldn’t hear anything from the basement. 

The warmth from the sleeping bags was making Athos feel relaxed. He let out a yawn and settled more comfortably against the cushion of fabric. Aramis would hopefully be upstairs for a while and with any luck find Porthos. Athos closed his eyes for just a minute. 

 

Porthos had been surprised that Aramis had found him first. He had thought that his hiding place under the air mattresses that Aramis still had to put away was an ingenious plan on his part. In fact, the only reason that Aramis had found Porthos at all was because he had stepped on him. 

Aramis also had no clue where Athos had ended up hiding. Considering that Athos hadn’t wanted to play and had been reluctant about hiding, he was currently outsmarting both Aramis and Porthos combined. It was almost fifty minutes after their game had started; Porthos and Aramis had searched all over the house. They still couldn’t find Athos. Even when they yelled for him to come out there was no response. 

It wasn’t until they had gone to the basement that they found him. Athos had fallen asleep in his hiding spot and had been unable to hear Porthos or Aramis yelling for him. Porthos had noticed his foot sticking out from underneath the sleeping bags. Before they had woken him up, Aramis had snapped a picture. 

Athos didn’t see the picture until several days later when Aramis made it the wallpaper on his phone.


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 15: Sharing an umbrella in the rain
> 
> Tags: Fleanon, I haven't really written them yet

Flea sat on her couch, glaring at the falling drops of rain outside as if she could somehow will the weather to cooperate if she stares out the window long enough. She played with the fraying edges of one of her pillows; the weather almost seemed to be reflecting her mood. Which was ironic, seeing as how the weather was responsible for putting her in this gloomy mood in the first place. 

Stupid weather having to go and ruin her date plans. 

She had made plans to go to the nice park down the street later this evening with Ninon. They were going to have a romantic picnic, complete with wine and fancy cheese because Flea was an adult and was trying to be responsible and buy nice things like fancy cheese. 

Instead of it being the gorgeous sunny day that Flea had been counting on, the weather had to go and be dreary and miserable. Outside the sky was the same dark gray that it had been all day and the rain was coming down in thick droplets – showing no sign of stopping or letting up anytime soon. 

Flea normally loved rainy weather. It was the perfect weather for curling up on the couch with a warm mug of hot chocolate and a good movie. However today she was pissed off at the rain, it was definitely unwelcome when she had romantic plans made with her girlfriend that she hardly seen in the last six weeks. 

Flea sighed and checked her phone again. She had sent a quick apology text to Ninon and was hoping to get a chance to reschedule their romantic picnic. This date had been a pain in the ass to plan because of Ninon’s busy work schedule. Their next date wouldn’t likely happen until next month - if Flea was extremely lucky. 

The phone in Flea’s hand buzzed. Ninon had sent back a reply. 

_“I’m actually on my way – Still want to do something?”_

Flea smiled and sent of her reply of _“Yes! Whatever you want to do.”_ She leaned back on her ratty sofa and couldn’t stop smiling at the ceiling. Perhaps they could still salvage the date. 

There was a knock on her front door ten minutes later and Flea ran to open it. Ninon was standing on her front step wearing a stylish red raincoat and matching rain boots. Her black umbrella was still open and her hair completely dry. 

Flea still couldn’t figure out how she did that. Every time Flea went outside in the rain – even with an umbrella – her hair was the first thing to get soaked. 

“Let’s go for a walk,” Ninon said happily.

Flea raised an eyebrow. “But it’s raining.” 

“That’s why it’ll be more fun,” Ninon said. “Besides I’ve got an umbrella. I’ll keep you dry.” 

Flea rolled her eyes, but pulled on her own pair of rain boots. They black with dingy green polka dots and they definitely did not match her purple raincoat. 

Outside, Ninon held the umbrella over both of them, but the wind whipped the fat droplets of rain underneath their small shelter. Droplets of rain ran down Flea’s neck, even as she turned up the collar on her jacket. 

“You’re hogging the umbrella,” Flea said. Ninon kept tilting the umbrella to keep the raindrops from being blown into their faces, but when she did that the top of Flea’s head was exposed. It also did not help that Ninon was slightly taller than Flea. 

Ninon adjusted the umbrella slightly so that it was covering both of their heads evenly. “Now I’m not,” she replied. 

“Well you were,” Flea muttered. This walk in the rain wasn’t as much fun as she had thought it was going to be. She was cold and wet and every time a car drove by the disgusting, dirty street, water splashed onto her jeans. There was also a small puddle forming inside her rain boots. 

“You’re doing it again,” Flea said. The rainwater dripping onto her head was making her short-tempered. “Just let me hold the umbrella.”

“I’m not doing anything,” Ninon replied. “And if you hold, I won’t be able to stand underneath it.”

Flea was about to reply with a sarcastic comment when she tripped over a curb that was definitely not in front of her two seconds ago. She flailed her arms, trying to regain her balance, but failed. Flea practically fell face first into a large muddy puddle. The water soaked through her raincoat and her jeans clung to her legs like a second skin. Her rain boots were full of brown water. Every inch of her was soaking wet. 

“Oh my god,” Ninon cackled. The umbrella bobbed as she bent over laughing. “Your face,” she wheezed. “I need to take a picture for Porthos.” 

“Fuck off Ninon,” Flea said, her teeth starting to chatter. This walk sucked. She decided walks in the rain were completely unromantic and Hollywood had lied to her. 

Ninon snapped a picture. She was still laughing when she tried to pull Flea to her feet. Before Flea was all the way to her feet, Ninon slipped on the mud and ended up sprawled next to Flea in the puddle.

Flea took one look at Ninon and burst out laughing. Ninon’s usually stunningly kept hair was plastered with mud. The mud had even ended up on her face too and made it look like she had gotten a facial done. “Your hair!” Flea snickered. She was clutching her stomach. The laughter causing a stich in her side. “Ninon, you look great, stunning as usually.”

Ninon looked down at herself, attempting to wipe the mud off her face. “We both look like a hot mess,” she said with a grin. 

They both dissolved into fits of laughter again. Anyone driving by would have seen two woman, half-covered in mud and completely soaked to the bone, laughing their heads off. All the while sitting in a puddle.

Ninon leaned over and kissed Flea, getting mud on both their faces. Flea hardly minded the rain. 

Eventually they made it back to Flea’s house where Flea managed to dig up enough towels to dry them off and get the mud off Ninon’s face and hair. Flea was still able to get her romantic picnic, just not in the park. They ate the fancy cheese and drank wine on a blanket spread out in the living room. Ninon was wearing one of Flea’s old college sweaters while her cloths were in the dryer. Flea decided that walks in the rain were sort of romantic.


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 16 - "I'm sorry I broke into your apartment but I thought it was my friends and I did wonder when he got two cats. Now I'm hungover and shirtless in your living room."
> 
> Tags: Athos/Aramis, maybe eventual OT3

Aramis was more than a little surprised to wake up with a large orange cat curled up contentedly on his chest. He didn't remember Porthos telling him that he got a cat. Aramis also couldn't remember a whole lot of what happened last night. 

There was a hazy memory of tequila shots and Aramis vaguely remembered crawling through Porthos' apartment window. Porthos was going to kill him when he found out that Aramis had the three stories outside the building, while drunk.

Aramis closed his eyes, petting the fat orange cat absentmindedly. It was heavy and hot on his chest, its claws digging into his skin just a little uncomfortably. The alternative was moving and Aramis did not have nearly enough energy to try to sit up yet. His head ached every time he thought about moving and his mouth felt like it had been used as an ashtray. It wasn't the worst hangover that Aramis had had. With a little painkillers and a lot of caffeine, he should be fine.

The upside was that the couch was far more comfortable than it usually was. Maybe Porthos had gotten a new one finally. Or, Aramis’ hangover was distracting from the lumpiness. Usually he complained that it was sleeping on rocks. He could have sworn that Porthos couch was cloth. This couch felt like leather and the pillows were definitely new. 

Aramis sat up with a groan, shoving the fat orange cat off his chest. The cat meowed angrily and stalked with its tail held high. Aramis’ headache spiked as he moved, but as long as he could get some painkillers in him hopefully sooner rather than later and maybe some water. He could at least pretend to be able to act like a normal human being. Aramis ran his fingers through his hair. Trying to look at least a little more presentable and not like the hungover hot mess that he actually was. He was in for such a lecture from Porthos. The pain in his head intensified just thinking about it.

There was a high pitch meow right by his elbow. A black and white cat nudged Aramis' arm with its head, demanding attention and wanting to be petted.

When the hell had Porthos gotten so many cats?

Aramis scratched the black and white cat behind the ears before standing up and nearly tripping over a low coffee table that Porthos had definitely not had last time Aramis had crashed on his couch. 

"Dammit Porthos," Aramis scowled. His head was definitely throbbing. It would not be a surprise to him if he had to go throw up in a minute. Aramis limped around the couch, still muttering insults to Porthos, wherever he was. He headed towards the kitchen, but froze before he had taken two steps.

Someone who was definitely not Porthos was standing in the living room. He had a scruffy beard and the bluest eyes that Aramis had ever seen. He looked like the type of person that Aramis would normally have easily flirted with. Except that, Aramis was slightly hungover and completely caught off guard.

“Who are you?” Aramis demanded. He was utterly confused as to why Porthos would have a stranger in his apartment. 

The man frowned, looking at Aramis with an infuriated expression. "Who am I? Who are you?" He growled. "You're the one in my apartment." 

"What?" Aramis looked around. 

That would explain a few things like the two cats and the really comfortable leather couch. Aramis groaned. He could not believe that he accidentally broke into someone else's apartment again. The first time had been Porthos' old neighbor Alice. She had called the cops on him before Porthos had explained what happened.

"Who are you?" The man repeated. 

Aramis felt like a moron. Trust him to go through the wrong window. "Sorry," he apologized. "I thought this was Porthos’ place." He tried to smile, but ended up wincing as his head throbbed painfully. Aramis would kill for something with caffeine in it. 

“Wrong apartment,” the man said. 

Aramis smiled slightly. “I am realizing that now thanks.” 

“Porthos lives next door,” the man continued. “How did you even get in here?”

“Oh you’re Athos,” Aramis said. He was happy to at least have a name for the handsome bearded stranger. Porthos had been telling him about his attractive new neighbor ever since he had moved in last week. 

Athos bobbed his head in acknowledgment. "The door was locked," he said. Athos was eyeing Aramis with an expression that was somewhere between genuinely curious an annoyed anger. Aramis was hoping that the man wouldn't call the cops. He didn’t want to deal with that again. 

"Window," Aramis replied. He realized that it wasn’t much of an answer, probably not the answer that Athos had been looking for anyways. 

Aramis also realized that he had somehow managed to lose his shirt somewhere between the club and the couch. That might be partially why Athos had such a strained look on his face. Aramis glanced around, hoping that it was somewhere in the living room. Was he even wearing it when he climbed through the window?

"We're three stories up," Athos said incredulously. He looked mildly impressed, or at least a lot less irritated at least. 

"I was looking for Porthos," Aramis replied. He caught sight of the sleeve of his shirt sticking out from under the couch. He pulled it on, fumbling with the buttons. "Sometimes I crash at his place. I didn't have the key last night."

Aramis could smell coffee and his headache kicked up the pain level a notch. 

"Porthos lives next door," Athos said.

“Are you going to call the police?” Aramis asked. He knew it was rude, but if Athos was going to call the police, he at least wanted to request a cup of coffee before they came. 

Athos shook his head. “No, but I’m impressed that you don’t need an ambulance. Were you drunk when you scaled the building?” 

“I’ve done it before,” Aramis insisted. 

Athos smiled at him. "You must be Aramis; Porthos might have mentioned you're habit for breaking and entering."

"Guilty as charged," Aramis admitted with a bow. Of course, Porthos had told Athos that he broke into people’s apartments when drunk. That was exactly what Aramis wanted Athos to know about him.

"I've just finished making coffee," Athos said. "You can have a cup if you like.”

Aramis was charming all the way through coffee. Athos had even managed to scrounge up some pain pills for him to make the raging headache subside. Later Athos took him over to Porthos’ and Aramis guessed correctly. Porthos was furious when he found out that, Aramis had climbed the building and that he had climbed into Athos’ apartment while drunk. 

Aramis knew that he certainly did not mind waking up in Athos’ apartment. Judging by the half smirk that Athos had when Aramis told the story to Porthos, Aramis’ was certain that Athos did not mind. Perhaps he would see if Athos was free for dinner, as repayment for coffee and not calling the cops. Perhaps if Aramis were lucky, he’d end up in Athos’ apartment again.


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 17: .“You’re afraid that you’ll lose me in big crowds so you always hold my hand but now you just hold my hand when there’s only, like, five people around and I’m getting very suspicious”
> 
> Tags: Portamis, OT3
> 
> Again, sorry for the late post - camping

Athos scowled at the crowd around him. He hated shopping. He especially hated shopping when there were crowds of people. Add the fact that it was over 80 degrees out and Athos was as surely as ever. He still didn’t understand why Aramis had to come to the farmer’s market when it was this hot out. He also didn’t understand why this many people had to be outside and all packed into one rather small street. 

Ahead of him, Aramis moved through the crowd with ease, occasionally glancing over his shoulder to make sure that Athos was still following. He stopped, waiting for Athos to catch up to him. 

“Come on,” Aramis said, holding out his hand and looking expectantly at Athos. 

Athos looked down at the outstretched hand in confusion. “What?” He asked. 

“I don’t want to lose you in the crowd,” Aramis explained. 

“We don’t need to hold hands, Aramis,” Athos said. Someone bumped into his back and he turned to glare at whoever had jostled him. Aramis took that opportunity to seize Athos’ hand and drag him through the crowd. 

Athos had no idea why Aramis was so keen on holding his hand. Aramis always liked to hold Porthos’ hand, but they were dating so Aramis had a reason. It wasn’t like Athos had a habit of getting lost in crowds or of wandering off. That was d’Artagnan who was constantly getting lost whenever they went out. 

The crowd thinned out slightly as they walked further down the block, towards the flowers. 

“Do you think Porthos would like these?” Aramis asked. He picked up a bouquet of yellow daisies. 

Athos shook his head. “He doesn’t like yellow flowers.” 

Aramis smiled and exchanged the yellow daisies for white ones. He only let go of Athos’ hand to pay for the flowers. 

“Hold these,” Aramis said. He shoved the bouquet into Athos’ hand, seizing the other one again. 

“It’s not that crowded anymore,” Athos said. He nearly dropped the flowers as Aramis tugged him towards the produce stall. “You can let go of my hand.”

“Might lose you in the crowd still,” Aramis replied. “Do you want me to stop?” 

Athos blushed and mumbled something. He didn’t want Aramis to let go, but he wasn’t going to say that out loud. It was an unspoken rule that you didn’t hit on someone who had a boyfriend. Even if you found both him and said boyfriend attractive. Athos wasn’t willing to risk screwing up two perfectly good friendships because of a stupid crush. 

Aramis didn’t bother saying anything, just grinned and tightened his grip on Athos’ hand. 

 

“Come on,” Porthos growled. He shouldered his way through the crowd of shoppers. Athos trying his best to follow the gap that Porthos’ bulk made in the crowd. The mall was packed full of people. Athos was still trying to figure out how he had been talked into going to the mall of a Friday. 

“You’re the one who insisted on going to the mall,” Athos grumbled. 

“You know I need to get Aramis a present,” Porthos said. He glanced over his shoulder as if to make sure Athos hadn’t been swallowed by the crowd of shoppers or murdered anyone. 

“Not my fault you forgot it was your anniversary,” Athos said. A food stand employee bumped into him and Athos glared at the poor man until apologized and walked a wide berth around Athos. “Still don’t see why I had to come with.”

Porthos chuckled as the food stand employee scampered away in fright. “Aramis was right, you are awful in crowds.” 

Athos didn’t bother to respond and settled for glaring at Porthos too.

A group of woman walked past, one of their shopping bags wacked into Athos shoulder. Before he could snarl something to them, Porthos clasped his hand firmly in his own, tugging him through the crowd and into a shop.

The shop that Porthos had pulled him into was a lot less crowded then rest of the mall. Nevertheless, Porthos still kept a firm grip on Athos’ hand as they wandered the aisles of the shop. Athos was used to Aramis randomly grabbing his hand while they were out, but he wasn’t going to complain if Porthos wanted to hold his hand too. 

“Do you think Aramis would like a tie?” Porthos asked. He was perusing the collection of ties that were for sale. Athos hadn’t caught the name on the outside of the shop, but it appeared to sell clothing. Perfect for finding Aramis a gift.

Athos rolled his eyes. “Aramis hates wearing ties, get him cufflinks.” He couldn’t believe that Porthos didn’t know that. Aramis complained bitterly anytime he had to go somewhere that required a tie. Half the time Athos had to tie Aramis’ tie because the man stubbornly refused to do it himself. 

“Cufflinks?” Porthos asked. “Since when did Aramis want cufflinks? He barely wears a suit.” 

“Trust me,” Athos replied. “Get him a pair of nice cufflinks.” He pulled Porthos over to the display of cufflinks and helped him pick out a pair of silver ones. 

Porthos kept a tight grip on both Athos’ hand and the shopping bag as they exited the store and ventured back into the crowd of shoppers. 

 

“I think the restaurant is just up here,” Aramis said. 

Porthos rolled his eyes. “Just admit it,” he said. “We’re lost.”

“No we’re not,” Aramis replied stubbornly. “I just need to figure out the directions.”

“I told you,” Athos grumbled. “You should have let me drive.”

“I have been in the car with you Athos,” Aramis said with a shudder. “I have no desire to repeat that experience.” 

Aramis glanced down at his phone and frowned. He was attempting to read the directions off his phone and so far had lead them down two dead-end alleys and into a grocery store parking lot. It was a mystery why they let him guide. Aramis couldn’t read directions to save his life. 

The streets were practically deserted. Athos still had no idea why Porthos and Aramis insisted they all go out to dinner. Also, Aramis had insisted that Porthos and Athos dress nice. It wasn’t like it was a special occasion or anything. The cool summer night air made Athos shiver slightly. He was only wearing a light button up because he had not expected Aramis to lead them on a tour of the city. 

“Cold, mon chéri?” Aramis asked. He interlocked his fingers with Athos. 

Athos looked around. “What are you doing?” He asked. There was no crowd, so why was Aramis holding his hand this time? 

On his other side, Porthos chuckled. “Told you.” 

Athos glared at both of them. 

“We’re taking you on a date,” Aramis said. 

That made Athos pause. He almost stopped walking, but Porthos grabbed his other hand and gently pulled him forward. 

“We were going to ask you once we got to the restaurant,” Porthos said.

“A date?” Athos asked. “But-“ 

“You’ll have fun, trust us,” Aramis replied. He looked down at his phone again. “The restaurant is just up this block. I think.” 

Athos smiled to himself as Porthos teased Aramis over his abysmal sense of direction.


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 18 - "There’s only two people in this hotel/inn and sitting in my room alone wasn’t fun so I’m invading yours"
> 
> Tags: Portamis

Porthos was surprised when there was a knock on his hotel room door. As far as he was concerned, the hotel was practically empty. At least that was what the woman at the front desk had said. Perhaps it was housekeeping or something along those lines. Porthos opened the door, not even bothering to glance through the peephole. 

It definitely was not housekeeping on the other side of his door. 

The man on the other side of Porthos’ door was one of those super attractive people that you only see in movies or on the covers of magazines. Porthos was very happy that he had decided against wearing his boxers. Although he wished that he was wearing something nicer than sweatpants and an old college t-shirt. 

“Hi,” the man said. Even his voice was attractive. He grinned and sauntered part Porthos and into his hotel room as if he owned the place. 

Porthos narrowed his eyes at the handsome intruder. “Can I help you?” He asked. It would be just his luck if the guy turned out to be some psycho axe murder or a weirdo. 

“There’s no one else in this hotel,” the man said. He flopped down on one of the two twin beds that were in the room and started thumbing through a magazine that have been left on the side table. 

“You can’t stay here,” Porthos said. He very much wanted the attractive man to stay, but Porthos was also adult enough to admit to himself that it might be a bad idea. 

“Sure I can. I’m Aramis by the way,” he countered.

Porthos let the door to the room close. “Porthos.”

“Nice to meet you Porthos,” Aramis said. He looked up from the magazine with a dazzling smile. 

“What are you doing in my room?” Porthos asked. He sat down on the bed that Aramis wasn’t currently occupying. 

Aramis tossed the magazine aside. “I was bored and there was no one else in this hotel.” 

“How do you know that?” Porthos enquired. He knew that there wasn’t a lot of people staying in this hotel on a Wednesday night, but he assumed that there would be more than just the two of them. 

“The lady at the front desk told me,” Aramis grinned. “She thought I was charming.”

Porthos chuckled. “I bet she did.” 

“So tell me, Porthos,” Aramis said, perking up and giving Porthos his undivided attention. Porthos tried not to think too much about the way that Aramis said his name. “What are you doing here and what is so important that I can’t stay?”

“I’m meeting a friend for breakfast tomorrow,” Porthos said. “It’s been a while since we were both in the same country. What are you here for?”

Aramis sighed. “Nothing as exciting as meeting a friend I’m afraid,” he said. “I’m just passing through and I thought that the Garrison Hotel would be a good and cheap place to spend the night.” 

“It ain’t a bad place to spend the night,” Porthos said. “I’ve stayed here a few times before. The breakfast in the morning’s pretty good.”

“I’ll have to be sure to check it out,” Aramis stated. He grabbed the remote off of the bedside table, pressing the power button and frowning when the television screen remained black. “Does your tv work?” 

“Doesn’t look like it,” Porthos replied. “I wasn’t planning on watching much television to be honest.” 

Aramis looked aghast. “But the Lord of the Rings marathon is on tonight,” he exclaimed. “You can’t miss that.” 

“I’ve never seen them,” Porthos admitted. He had tried to watch them once several years ago, but he just never got around to it. They were such long movies and he didn’t exactly have all the time in the world. 

Aramis however looked severely offended. It was as if Porthos said he kicked puppies for fun. “You’ve never seen the Lord of the Rings?” Aramis asked, sounding horrified. Porthos shook his head and Aramis bounded off the bed, nearly tripping over his feet in the process. 

“What are you doing?” Porthos asked. He really didn’t want Aramis to accidently to go and face plant into the wall. 

Aramis grabbed Porthos’ hands and clumsily dragged him to his feet. “The tv in my room works just fine, but the first movie already started,” he said excitedly. “I’ll can catch you up.” 

Porthos paused to grab his keycard and phone, before allowing Aramis to drag him down the hallway. Aramis was eagerly explaining what Porthos was apparently missing in the couple of minutes it took for them to take the elevator up five floors. 

Aramis’ hotel room was the exact same as Porthos’, except there was only there was one queen bed, instead of two twins. 

“I have a bottle of wine,” Aramis said. “If you want some. It’s red though.”

“Red works for me,” Porthos replied. Aramis threw him the television remote and instructed him to find the channel while he got the wine. By the time Porthos had managed to find the channel, Aramis was already getting settled against the headboard, balancing two plastic cups of wine. 

Aramis handed Porthos one of the cups with an apologetic smile. “Sorry it’s nothing fancy.” 

“What are you talking about?” Porthos teased. “This is the classiest thing I’ve done all week.”

“At least it beats sitting in your room by yourself,” Aramis said.

“That it does,” Porthos replied. He made himself comfortable next to Aramis, leaning against the headboard. It turned out that they hadn’t missed too much and Aramis enthusiastically added his own commentary. 

They finished the bottle of wine somewhere towards the end of the second movie and Aramis feel asleep against Porthos during the beginning of the third one. His head dropping against Porthos’ chest, dark hair brushing Porthos chin. Somehow, Porthos feel asleep during near the end of the movie. 

Porthos woke the next morning with a slight headache and a phone number scrawled in loopy handwriting across his palm.


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 19 - Going on vacation together. "I was already to go last week, but now you're packing at three o'clock in the morning and it's kind of hilarious." 
> 
> Tags: Portamis

Porthos was surprised to be woken up from his pleasant dream by a loud thud and muffled cursing. Turning on his bedside lamp, he was less surprised to find Aramis laying on the floor of their bedroom. 

Aramis blinked owlishly, slightly blinded by the lamp light. “Sorry, stubbed my toe.” He was still laying on the ground, holding his foot. “Go back to bed.”

“What are you doing?” Porthos asked, yawning widely. 

“Nothing,” Aramis replied quickly. “I got up to get a drink of water, go back to sleep. I’ll be fine in a minute.” 

“Nonsense,” Porthos said. He started to get up and noticed the pile of shirts scattered on the ground next to Aramis. “Are you packing?”

They had a flight at six in the morning for Paris. Athos had bought them the tickets for a Christmas present. Both Aramis and Porthos had managed to take time off work and had finally decided to use the tickets. Porthos had packed all his cloths and everything a week ago. Aramis had made fun of him for being overly responsible. By the looks of things, Aramis had completely forgotten about packing. Even though Porthos had reminded him about it, several times. 

Aramis hesitate. “No,” he lied, getting up from the floor and collecting his shirts.

Porthos rolled his eyes. Of course, Aramis would save his packing for the last possible moment. He glanced at the alarm clock on his bedside table and groaned. It was three am. Athos was picking them up at four. By the looks of things, Aramis had barley started to pack.

“How much do you have packed?” He asked. 

Aramis glanced at the suitcase that was at the end of their bed. It was completely empty. “I just started,” he answered, have the grace to look at least a little ashamed with himself. “Sorry I woke you up, go back to sleep.” 

Porthos shook his head. “I’ll leave the light on so you can see. Don’t want you tripping and injuring yourself before we leave. Besides, I can try and finish my book before we leave.”

“Suit yourself,” Aramis replied. He nearly dropped all the shirts as he attempted to fold them. 

Porthos grabbed his book from his bedside table. “You do know that Athos is picking us up an hour,” he said with a chuckle. He propped up the pillows to he could at least watch Aramis attempting to pack. It was hilarious to watch him run around the room. Porthos was finding this whole situation highly amusing. Although he bet that Aramis was not finding it nearly as funny as he was. 

Aramis ignored his comment as he haphazardly threw the shirts into his suitcase, not even bothering to attempt and fold them anymore. Aramis dashed back to the dresser and started riffling through the drawers.

“You’re jeans are in the hamper,” Porthos said. It was a good thing that Athos had given the tickets to him and not Aramis. 

Aramis found the jeans and tossed them into the suitcase along with several other items of clothing. Porthos knew for a fact that Aramis had grabbed nonmatching socks, but there were much larger problems at the moment. Like what Athos was going to do to Aramis when he found out that the man wasn’t ready to go. Athos was always punctual. 

“Have you seen my shoes?” Aramis asked, his voice muffled. 

Porthos looked up from his book and saw Aramis half under their bed. “Which ones?” He asked. Aramis owned nearly as many shoes as Constance and Ninon put together. 

“The black ones,” Aramis replied, still routing around under the bed. “My nicer black ones, not the ones with the weird laces.” 

“Thought they were downstairs,” Porthos said. Although he wasn’t sure. Aramis owned three pairs of black shoes and Porthos wasn’t sure which ones he saw downstairs. 

Aramis sighed. “That’s what I thought.” There was a shout of triumph and he scooted out from under the bed, holding one of his black shoes he was looking for. 

“Did you look in the closet?” Porthos asked. He glanced at his alarm clock. The digital numbers showed that it was 3:43. Athos was going to be at their house in less than twenty minutes and Aramis looked like he was barely ready to go. 

“Porthos, please,” Aramis scoffed. “I’m not an idiot.”

“Well,” Porthos replied slowly, grinning at the indignant look on Aramis’ face. 

“Not a complete idiot,” Aramis amended. “Honestly you have no faith in my abilities.”

Porthos snorted. “I’m not the one packing at three in the morning.”

Aramis opened his mouth to respond, but then thought better of it and settled for throwing Porthos an Athos worthy glare.

“Don’t forget your swimsuit,” Porthos reminded him, returning to his book.

“Already packed it,” Aramis replied. He ran to the bathroom for his hairbrush and other hair stuff. 

Porthos highly doubted that Aramis had actually packed his swimsuit, seeing as how it was still hanging on the closet door. “You sure about that?” He asked. 

Aramis glared at him as tossed the bottles into a zip lock bag and threw those and the hairbrush into his suitcase. “Yes,” he said shortly.

Porthos nodded to the swimsuit and Aramis scowled something under his breath. He would have returned to his book, but a knock on the door interrupted him.

“Perfect timing,” Aramis said. He was struggling to zip up the suitcase. His poor packing job making causing the difficulty. Porthos rolled his eyes and he went to open the door. 

“Did you grab your toothbrush?” He yelled upstairs. 

“Shit!” Aramis swore loudly. “Knew I was forgetting something.” 

Athos did not look surprised to hear that Aramis had been packing up until the last minute. When they got to the airport, they made it through security and onto the plane with no incidents. Except for Aramis flirting with the TSA agent who patted him down. Aramis curled up against Porthos shoulder and fell asleep before takeoff.


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 20 - Having to win over the other one's pet
> 
> Tags: Trevillieu, background OT3

Treville was thrilled when he and Richelieu had started going out on actual dates and had finally stopped pretending to hate each other. Things were going great. They went on coffee dates and went out to nice dinners. The only problem was when Treville started spending his nights at Richelieu’s house. 

Richelieu’s cat did not like him. 

In fact, the cat hated him. Richelieu had said that it was unusual for Soumise to dislike anybody and that she would probably grow out of it. Treville was not as certain as Richelieu was. 

Soumise had scratched his jacket, chewed on his nice pair of leather shoes, and hissed at him every time he entered a room with her in it. Treville had a set of claw mark scars on his arm from the first time he had made the mistake of trying to pick her up. There was a still healing bite mark on his hand from when he had tried to scratch her behind the ear. 

Richelieu was still convinced that the cat would grow out of this behavior and merely laughed when Treville swore that Soumise wanted to murder him in his sleep. 

“You’re being overly dramatic,” Richelieu said one night when Treville was putting band-aids on yet another cut cause by the demonic cat. 

They were standing in Richelieu’s kitchen as he cooked dinner and Treville watched. He never liked cooking, but he admired Richelieu’s skill in the kitchen as well as other places. 

Treville couldn’t help but snort in laughter. “Look what your stupid cat did to me,” he said. He held up his hand for Richelieu to inspect. “I didn’t even do anything to her this time.” He had been sitting on the couch, quite peacefully. The cat had jumped up onto his lap and bitten his hand. 

“Soumise just needs to get used to you being around the house,” Richelieu said, chopping up onions and adding them to the soup he was making. 

Treville didn’t bother to point out that he had been spending nights in the house for almost two months now and the cat was still as intent causing him physical harm as she had been the moment he had stepped through Richelieu’s door. 

“Soumiseis just jealous,” Richelieu cooed to the cat, who had just jumped up on the counter. “Aren’t you a precious little thing? Yes you are.” The cat purred loudly and rubbed her head against Richelieu’s arm until he picked her up. Treville could have sworn that the cat was glaring at him over Richelieu’s shoulder. There was certainly a murderous glint in her pale green eyes. 

“I still don’t understand why your cat had such a ridiculous name,” Treville muttered. He placed one last band-aid over the small puncture near his thumb. 

The cat narrowed her eyes at him. 

“Hold her for a minute will you,” Richelieu said. He dumped the cat into Treville’s arms before the man could protest. “I’ll be right back, just need a potato from the basement.”

Treville and the cat eyed each other warily as Richelieu hurried out of the kitchen. By the time, Richelieu got back with his potato his soup was boiling. Treville also had several new claw marks on his face and his shirt had a couple small tears around the collar. Soumise was sitting on the counter next to the stove, calmly licking her paws and washing her ears. 

Perhaps Treville was right about the cat hating him.

Things did not get better from there. Soumise had started to wake Treville up in the middle of the night by chewing on his ears. The cat was also making it a habit to hide in the bedroom before Richelieu and Treville went to bed. Treville was never sure that, when he shut the bedroom door, if he was shutting the cat out or trapping it in the room with him. 

Treville had tried feeding Soumise cat treats that Richelieu swore that she loved. That had only been attempted once and Treville swore that he had nearly lost a finger. Richelieu still said that he was being overly dramatic. 

He had even bought the stupid cat a little stuffed mouse. Said stuffed mouse had been left on his pillow in pieces. 

“She’s threatening me,” Treville said crossly. 

Richelieu shook his head. “Nonsense,” he chuckled. “She probably meant it as a present.” 

“She tore it into pieces!” Treville retorted. “That’s not a present.” 

“She’s a cat,” Richelieu replied. “I highly doubt that my cat is threatening your life.”

Soumise jumped into Richelieu’s lap and curled up contentedly, purring loudly. Treville glared at the cat. “If I turn up dead,” he said. “It’s going to be because of your cat.” Richelieu looked as if he was refraining from rolling his eyes with some difficulty. 

Treville could not believe that he was having to try and win over Richelieu’s pet cat. Soumise was worse than his last girlfriend’s mother was. They had both had nasty claws and had both hated Treville. 

Treville was down to one final plan get Richelieu’s cat to like him. He would at least settle for the cat to stop biting him and clawing at him and ruining his clothing. Aramis and Porthos both had sworn that Athos’ two cats had loved this stuff and that they did not try to eat Aramis’ hair anymore. Treville hoped that this worked. Otherwise, he was going to have to resign himself to a very long and painful couple of years. 

How long did cats live anyways?

Soumise glared at Treville when he entered the living room and crept closer to her sunny spot next to the window. Richelieu was at work and Treville figured that this would be the perfect time to put his last plan into action. That way if it failed miserably he wouldn’t have to tell Richelieu. 

“Nice kitty cat,” Treville muttered in what he hoped was a soothing voice. “Good kitty cat. I’ve got a present for you.” Soumise meowed as Treville pulled out a small zip lock bag from his jacket pocket. It didn’t sound like her usual ‘I’m going to claw your face off’ meow, so Treville figured that was a small improvement. 

Soumise perked up when Treville opened the baggy. So far so good at least she wasn’t biting him, yet. 

“You like this?” Treville asked. He was going to have to owe Porthos and Aramis a very nice bottle of wine. Although he suspected that Athos might appreciate it more. 

Soumise nudged Treville’s hand with her head, purring loudly. He smiled widely and rubbed behind her ears as he had seen Richelieu do. Treville sat on the couch and was surprised when Soumise jumped up next to him, curling herself up in his lap. 

Richelieu was also surprised to see his cat curled up in Treville’s lap. 

“What happened?” He whispered, setting down the bag of groceries as gently as he could. 

Treville held up the small bag with a smile. “Catnip,” he replied. “Who knew?” 

Soumise purred happily as Treville scratched her behind the ears. At least he no longer had to worry about the cat the trying to murder him in his sleep.


	21. Chapter 21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 21 - Going grocery shopping and arguing about which flavor of ice cream to get.
> 
> Tags: OT3

There were a lot of reasons that Athos preferred to do his grocery shopping alone. It was easier to get everything he needed and it was quicker. He also always came home with everything on the list and didn’t accidently forget anything. 

Whenever Aramis went to the grocery store, he forgot half the items of the list and came home with several items that were definitely not put on the list by either Porthos or Athos. Whenever Porthos went shopping him came home with the bare essentials that they needed. He did not like or have the patients for looking around the store for whatever weird spices that Aramis had added to the list. 

So Athos had been chosen as the designated shopper and both Porthos and Aramis knew that Athos preferred to do the shopping by himself. They usually let him. Sometimes one of them would tag along if they wanted to get something that usually wasn’t on his list, but often it would just be Athos going.

Except for today.

Today both Aramis and Porthos had decided to go to the grocery store with Athos. The air conditioning in their house had broken and wasn’t going to be fixed until tomorrow. The humidity was reaching extreme levels of uncomfortableness. Nobody fancied staying home and Athos had decided to go get his shopping done early because the store would be air-conditioned. 

Athos was regretting letting Porthos and Aramis come. Aramis kept wandering off down the aisles and returning with random items that were not of Athos’ list. Porthos was then stuck with the job of figuring out where Aramis had found said items and returning them to the shelves. 

“Ice cream,” Aramis exclaimed. “We need ice cream.” 

Athos crossed off cereal as Porthos dropped the boxes into the cart. “Not on the list,” he replied. 

“I’m getting ice cream,” Aramis called over his shoulder, already half way down the aisle. 

“It’s not on the list,” Athos yelled after him. 

Porthos chuckled. “Let him get the ice cream, might shut him up for a while at least.” 

“Fine,” Athos grumbled. “But we’re not getting mint chocolate chip, I don’t care what he says about it. We’re not getting it.” 

He should have just left Porthos and Aramis in the car with the keys. They would have gotten their cool air that they wanted. Athos would have been able to shop in peace. He might even have finished it by now. 

When Porthos and Athos finally managed to make it to the ice cream aisle, they found Aramis already holding a large container of mint chocolate ice cream. 

“No,” Athos growled. 

Aramis pouted. “But it’s the best kind of ice cream.” 

“We’re getting vanilla,” Athos replied. 

“Boring,” Aramis groaned. He kept trying to put the container of ice cream into the cart, but Athos kept moving the cart out of his reach. 

“It’s the finest of the flavors,” Athos countered. 

“It’s plain, this-” he held up the mint chocolate chip container for emphasis. “This is green.” 

Athos rolled his eyes. He did not understand Aramis obsession with mint chocolate chip ice cream. He had once tried to buy it as a treat, but he had accidently bought the white ice cream instead of the green one. Aramis had point blank refused to eat it and Athos had wound up giving the container to Ninon. 

“Ice cream isn’t supposed to be plain,” Athos said. He grabbed a small carton of vanilla ice cream out of the freezer and placed it in the cart.

“Porthos which ice cream do you want?” Aramis asked, turning to Porthos. “Boring plain old vanilla or awesome green chocolate ice cream?” 

Porthos looked carefully at both containers. “Strawberry,” he said with a smirk

Both Aramis and Athos made disgusted faces at Porthos. 

“You’re no help,” Aramis replied. 

Porthos looked like he was trying his hardest not to roll his eyes at the pair of them. “Just get both of them.” 

“Last time we got both, the vanilla disappeared in two days,” Athos grumbled. He grudgingly allowed Aramis to put the container of mint chocolate chip ice cream into the cart. 

Aramis shrugged. “Wasn’t me.”

“You made root beer floats that night,” Porthos pointed out. 

“Yeah,” he said. “But I didn’t use all of it.”

Porthos chuckled. “I think you did.” 

“Did not,” Aramis replied indignantly. “Flea was over that night too.” 

Athos rolled his eyes, interrupting their playful bickering before Porthos could open his mouth to reply. “Aramis, go find cheese and not the crappy cheap stuff. Porthos go find bread.” 

“Don’t take my ice cream out,” Aramis hollered as he headed towards where the cheese was. 

Athos grabbed a container of strawberry ice cream out of the freezer before following Porthos down the aisle. 

It took them almost three hours to get all of their shopping done. Their house was still stifling hot, but darkening clouds were gathering overhead and the air around the house was cooling off quickly. Athos and Porthos unloaded the car while Aramis ran around the house, opening up windows. 

Aramis also managed to be mysteriously busy while Athos and Porthos put away the groceries. He finally turned up when Athos was putting the last of the fruits away. 

He made up for his absence by dishing up the bowls of ice cream for everyone and not making fun of Athos’ vanilla ice cream. 

The air inside house was still too hot to sit inside without sweating, so Porthos suggested that they eat their ice cream on the front step. Outside it was still warm, but a cool breeze made Athos glad for his jeans. Porthos and Athos sat on the top step, eating their ice cream slowly. Aramis sat on the bottom step, leaning against Porthos legs and complaining that it was still too hot. He was done with his ice cream in two minutes. 

By the time, Athos had finished his, the first raindrops had started to fall and the air inside their house was at least breathable.


	22. Chapter 22

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 22 - "Getting drunk and cooking together"
> 
> Tags: Constagnan

“Are you baking?” Constance asked. She had come home from work early to find her kitchen a complete mess. There was flour everywhere and in the middle of the kitchen stood d’Artagnan, covered in flour. The expression that crossed his face when he saw Constance was a mixture of shock and terror. Clearly, he had not been expecting her to walk through the door. 

D’Artagnan glanced around at the disaster area that was formerly their kitchen. “I was going to clean it up before you got home,” he said guiltily. “You’re home earlier then I thought.” 

“Are these supposed to be cookies?” Constance asked. She was looking at a tray of charcoaled black blobs. They had the same consistency of a hockey puck. 

“Yeah,” d’Artagnan muttered, blushing as he dumped the tray of misshapen cookies into the garbage bin. “Didn’t set the temperature on the oven correctly.” 

Constance sighed. “Clean up,” she said. “I’ll be down in a minute.” She had been planning to relax with a glass of wine in front of the television. Apparently, her evening now required her to teach d’Artagnan how to bake cookies properly. It was a wonder that he hadn’t burnt down the house. 

By the time she had changed and returned to the kitchen, d’Artagnan had the worst of the mess cleaned up. The dirty dishes were at least stacked in a neat pile in the sink and the counter tops had been wiped down. The flour had been mostly cleaned up and d’Artangnan had managed to brush most of it off his clothing, but had missed the flour in his hair. Constance had restrained herself from laughing at his appearance with only mild difficulty. 

All that remained of d’Artagnan’s failed baking attempts was the lingering smell of burnt cookies. 

Constance poured herself a large glass of wine. She was at the very least going to have her wine, even if she was unable to relax in front of the tv. D’Artagnan was going to owe her for this.

“Where is your recipe?” She asked. 

D’Artagnan shrugged. “I didn’t really have one.” 

Constance groaned. She was going to be needing several large glasses of wine in order to get through this. 

“Go grab the cook book under the island,” she ordered, pouting d’Artagnan a glass of wine. He was going to be needing one too.

By the time, that Constance had shown d’Artagnan how to follow a recipe and measure the ingredients correctly, half of the bottle of wine was gone. They both were feeling pleasantly buzzed and Constance was having a hard time not giggling at the amount of flour in d’Artagnan’s hair. She was really going to have to try to get a picture when he was not looking. Athos would find it hilarious. 

Constance showed d’Artagnan how to combine the ingredients and set the oven temperature correctly. The bottle of wine was finished somewhere between mixing all the ingredients together and getting the trays cleaned. 

“I bet I can roll more balls then you,” Constance said. Her face was flushed and the room was feeling very warm.

D’Artagnan dissolved into a fit of giggles. 

“Cookie dough balls,” Constance scolded, hitting d’Artagnan with the kitchen towel. “Cookie dough balls. Get your mind out of the gutter.” 

“Sorry,” d’Artagnan wheezed. He grinned at Constance. 

Constance grinned back. “You’ve been spending too much time with Aramis,” she said. 

D’Artagnan was too busy trying to find another bottle of wine to respond. He finally managed to locate one in the very back of the cupboard. 

“We need more chocolate,” he said, filling up both of their glasses.

Constance made a face. “No we don’t.” 

“Yes we do,” d’Artagnan insisted. He grabbed the bag of chocolate chips, nearly dumping them on the floor in the process. “You can never have enough chocolate and these cookies don’t have enough chocolate.”

“Not too much,” Constance warned. She sipped from her glass as d’Artagnan held the bag over the mixing bowl. “Use a cup,” she said when she realized what his plan was. 

“What?” D’Artagnan looked up from what he was doing and the front of the bag slipped from his hands. 

Half the bag of chocolate chips poured into the mixing bowl. He looked down at the small mountain of chocolate in the bowl.

“Whoops,” he muttered. 

Constance giggled. It honestly wasn’t that funny, but d’Artagnan looked utterly confused as to why the chocolate was overflowing out of the bowl. 

“A little much,” she laughed. Mixing the chocolate chips into the cookie dough was a pain. D’Artagnan and Constance took turns mixing and eating whatever chocolate chips fell out of the bowl. 

“These are going to be either awful or really good,” d’Artagnan said as they were attempting to role the cookie dough into balls and put them on the baking sheets. It was taking a while because either Constance or d’Artagnan kept dissolving into laughter and the extra chocolate chips were making it very hard for the cookie dough portion of the ball to stay together. 

They only managed to get one and a half trays of cookies out of the cookie dough. Constance kept throwing them at d’Artagnan, trying to get him to catch the cookie dough in his mouth. Problem was that she hadn’t been telling him when to catch the balls. As a result, there was now cookie dough splattered on the kitchen tiles and the counter, as well as on d’Artagnan’s shirt. 

“You think we’ve had enough?” D’Artagnan asked. He was looking into his now empty wine glass with a rather morose expression. 

Constance laughed as she was putting the cookies in the oven. She closed the oven door and grabbed the bottle of wine, hoping up on the counter. “What are we going to do while we wait?” She patted the spot next to her, ignoring the little clouds of flour that rose. 

The second bottle of wine was half way finished when the timer went off for the cookies. Both Constance and d’Artagnan were rather drunk at this point. D’Artagnan pulled the cookies out and was surprised that he didn’t spill them. 

“Try one,” d’Artagnan said excitedly. His words only slurring a little bit.

“Too hot,” Constance replied. 

“Not it’s not,” d’Artagnan said. He scooped up one of the cookies and popped it into his mouth. Ignoring the fact that it had mostly fallen apart before he had even picked it up. He chewed it for a couple of seconds before he started fanning his mouth. “Too hot,” he spluttered. 

“Drink this,” Constance ordered. She shoved her glass into his hands and he downed half of it, his eyes watering. “I think we should wait to eat them.” 

D’Artangan nodded, still fanning his tongue. “Cookies for breakfast.” 

Constance giggled as they stumbled upstairs. Neither one of them bothered to get undressed before collapsing onto the bed. 

D’Artagnan did not get to have the cookies for breakfast. Both he and Constance slept until noon and spent a couple hours lying in bed, unable to move very far except to the bathroom. 

When they actually got a chance to eat the cookies, D’Artagnan swore they were the best he had ever had.


	23. Chapter 23

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 23 - "I rented the apartment above your flower shop and in the last two months you’ve gotten a new flower I’m allergic to so I keep buying bouquets until I can figure out which kind it is"
> 
> Tags: Portamis, background Trevillieu and Constagnan
> 
> Changed the prompt a little when I was writing and sorry for the abrupt ending, I ran out of steam.

Aramis was in the back of the shop, arranging a bouquet of special order flowers, when he heard the door open, the bell above it ringing shrilly throughout the shop. 

“Can I help you?” He asked, wiping his hands off on his pants as he exited his small back room. Aramis was surprised to see Porthos standing in the middle of his shop. 

Porthos was renting the apartment above the shop, but Aramis hardly ever saw him. The man usually would use the back entrance instead of coming through Aramis’ shop. Porthos had been renting from Aramis’ for over a year now and all Aramis’ knew about him was his name and that he worked late shifts. 

Aramis generally tried not to give Porthos too much thought, because the man was ridiculously attractive and Aramis always got tongue tied the few times that they had talked. 

“Hey,” Porthos said, shifting his weight nervously. He kept glancing around the shop. 

It took a minute for Aramis’ thoughts to sort themselves. “What can I help you with? Locked yourself out again?” 

Porthos grinned, looking a tad embarrassed at the memory. Luckily that was one of the nights that Aramis had been opened later than usual. He regretted not inviting Porthos for a drink that night, but he had gotten flustered and Porthos had left looking slightly confused. 

“Uh no,” Porthos said. “I was actually hoping to get some flowers.” 

Aramis’ stomach clenched a little. “What kind of flowers?” He asked. It didn’t matter that Porthos was probably getting the flowers for a date. It wasn’t like Aramis even had a chance as it was. 

“How ‘bout those?” Porthos said. He nodded towards a display of sunflowers.

“Sure,” Aramis replied. “Good choice.” He hoped that his tone didn’t sound as forced as it sounded to him. 

Porthos sneezed forcefully when Aramis handed him the bouquet of sunflowers. “Thanks,” he sniffed. “See you ‘round Aramis.” 

He was out the shop door before Aramis could say bye. 

~

It was several week later when the bell above the door rang merrily as Porthos once again stepped through the door. Aramis was currently in the process of wrapping up the flowers that Treville was ordering. 

“Do you think Armand will like them?” Treville asked, taking the package that Aramis handed him. 

Aramis smiled. “I think he’ll love them.” He turned to Porthos as the bell tinkled again as Treville left.

Porthos looked like he was coming down with a cold. His eyes and nose were red and he kept sniffling.

“Are you feeling okay?” Aramis asked frowning slightly. Porthos looked like he was feeling terribly. 

Porthos sniffled, dabbing at his running nose with a worn Kleenex. “I’m fine,” he replied thickly. His nose sounded stuffed. “Just wanted to get some more flowers.” 

Aramis’ heart fell. The date must have gone well if Porthos was back here getting more flowers. Unless the flowers were for himself, but it wasn’t like Porthos could even smell them. “What kind are you looking for?” Aramis asked. 

“Um, not sure,” Porthos mumbled. He glanced around at the different variety of flowers. “How about these?” He picked up a vase of pinkish orange Dahlias. 

Aramis wrapped them up for him and Porthos made small talk this time. Asking him how the shop was doing and what he did in his free time. Aramis was proud of himself for making it through the conversation without blushing. 

“Have a good day,” Aramis said. 

Porthos gave him a smile and Aramis thought he might melt into a puddle right there on the spot. He had almost made it through an entire conversation without blushing. Whomever the flowers were for was a very lucky person. 

~

Almost an entire month before Porthos walked back into Aramis’ shop. Aramis was happy to see him and surprised that Porthos still looked like he had a cold. 

“Hey,” Aramis grinned. 

Porthos sneezed loudly. “Sorry,” he mumbled. 

“You still have that cold?” Aramis asked. 

“Allergies,” Porthos said shortly.

Aramis winced. “They suck,” he said sympathetically. He was allergic to cat hair and it always sucked when he went over to Athos’ house. His cats loved to climb all over Aramis’ lap. 

“Yep,” Porthos replied unenthusiastically. He sneezed again. He looked so miserable that Aramis took pity on him. 

“My mom makes this tea,” he said. “It doesn’t make the allergy go away, but it helps with the sneezing and stuff.” Aramis could feel his face reddening as he tripped over the words. 

Porthos smiled at him gratefully and Aramis’s felt his knees nearly buckle. He went to the back to grab it. Sometimes if Aramis worked late, he liked to have a bit of tea and made it a habit to keep a tin of tea at the shop. Aramis grabbed the tin and splashed some water on his face. 

By the time he walked back into the shop, Porthos had picked out a bouquet of daises and goldenrod.

~

Aramis was sitting behind the counter, staring at the ceiling and contemplating on whether or not he should close early. Business had been slow all day. The only person who had been in here was d’Artagnan who bought a bouquet of roses for his and Constance’s date. 

The bell above the door rang and Aramis nearly fell off his chair in his haste to get to his feet. 

“Don’t need to get up on my account,” Porthos chuckled. He no longer sounded stuffed up. His eyes were still a little red and he was still a tad sniffley sounding. 

Aramis went red. “You look better,” he stammered and then blushed a deeper shade of red. 

“All thanks to you.” Porthos grinned and then sneezed loudly. 

“Allergies still?” Aramis asked. His brain was still stuck on the ‘thanks to you’ part. 

Porthos nodded. “I think it’s one of your flowers,” he said. “I’ve been tryin’ to figure out which flowers.”

“My flowers?” Aramis replied, glancing around the shop. He had a lot of flowers. 

“It’s one of your new ones,” Porthos said. He picked up a bouquet of purple New York Asters. “That’s what the bouquets were for.” 

Something in Aramis’ brain clicked into place. “I thought they were for a date,” he said. 

Porthos chuckled. “No, but I’d be open for one.”

“One what?” Aramis asked. He suddenly felt very confused and trying to figure out if the conversation was going where he thought it was going. 

“A date,” Porthos said easily. “I have to at least thank you for the tea.”

“It was my mothers,” Aramis stammered. A date? Porthos was asking him on a date, he must be dreaming. 

“Well I don’t really want to go on a date with your mother,” Porthos said with a smirk. 

Aramis nodded slowly, not trusting himself to speak in case he said something else that was stupid. 

Porthos checked his watch. “What time are you done? We can grab some coffee later if you want.”

“We can go now,” Aramis said eagerly. “I was going to close up early anyway.” 

“Alrighty,” Porthos smiled and Aramis wondered if anyone else’s’ knees felt weak at that smile. “These are for you.” He presented Aramis with the bouquet of purple Asters. Aramis held the bouquet in his free hand as Porthos loped an arm through his. 

It wasn’t until later that Porthos realized that the flowers he had given Aramis were the same flowers that were causing his allergies. After that, Aramis donated all the New York Asters to a local wedding and he made sure to check that Porthos wasn’t allergic to anything else in his shop. 

Whenever Aramis got new flowers, he made Porthos smell them to avoid any allergies. Even though Aramis never bought them after that, the Asters became his new favorite flower.


	24. Chapter 24

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 24 - "You just moved in to the neighborhood and I’m trying to be a “good neighbor” so I’m helping you unpack and making small talk like would you like to take a coffee with me lat—WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU CARRYING ROCKS IN THIS BOX” 
> 
> Tags: Athamis, Portamis, eventual OT3, implied Constagnan and Trevillieu

“Aramis, get away from the window,” Constance scolded. “You’re going to scare the new neighbor off before he even gets here.”

“I’m not gonna scare him,” Aramis replied. He was sitting on his couch looking over the back of it out the window. 

The house that Alice had been trying to sell for ages had been purchased by some new guy that Alice had said was incredibly handsome. Aramis had been waiting for the moving truck to show up for over an hour now. From his seat, he could see the sold sign swinging in the breeze. He hoped that the guy would show up soon. 

Constance poked her head out of the kitchen. “Leave the man alone,” she said. She was wearing an apron that was covered in flour and chocolate. “Alice said that he seemed like the type who wouldn’t appreciate a welcoming committee.”

“We don’t have a welcoming committee,” Aramis pointed out. “You’re the one baking him a cake. I’m just going to say hi and offer to help him move in.” 

“Oh yes, you’re the perfect gentleman and offering to help has nothing to with the fact that Alice said he was drop dead gorgeous,” Constance said with a teasing smile. 

“Shouldn’t you get back to your cake?” Aramis replied. “D’Artagnan’s going to be wondering what’s taking you so long.” Constance stuck her tongue out at him and went back into the kitchen. The oven at her house was busted and Aramis had been kind enough to offer his. Although he was starting to regret it. 

So what if he wanted to meet this neighbor because Alice said he was attractive. It wasn’t a terrible reason and at least he was going to offer to help the man move in. If Porthos wasn’t stuck at work he would definitely have joined in on Aramis’ plan. 

Aramis hoped that this mysterious new neighbor would hurry up and move in already. He was starting to get bored by the unchanging view. The whole neighborhood was buzzing with the news. Rumor was that the man was rich and came from old money, but nobody knew who he was. Last time somebody had moved was when Treville had moved three houses down into Richelieu’s. That had happened nearly two years ago. 

A moving truck drove up the street and parked in the driveway of Alice’s old house. An expensive looking black car followed it. 

“He’s here,” Aramis shouted. He scrambled off the couch and ran down the stairs.

“Aramis, stay here,” Constance yelled after him, but Aramis was already out the door. 

He at least had the good sense of mind not to run down the street. However, he did walk at a rather brisk walk the half a block to where the moving truck was parked. The man in the expensive black car was talking to the movers in the truck when Aramis reached the driveway. 

“Uh – hi,” Aramis said. 

The man who was talking turned around. Nothing that Alice had said had prepared Aramis for how attractive the man really was in person. He had sharp piercing blue eyes and was glaring at Aramis in a mixture of annoyance and curiosity. 

“Can I help you?” The man asked smoothly, his voice was low and pleasant. 

“I just saw you drive up,” Aramis replied, gesturing back towards his house. “Thought I’d come offer to help. I’m Aramis by the way.” 

“Athos,” the man said. His face was impassive and Aramis got the feeling that he didn’t do a lot smiling. “And I can manage just fine thank you.” 

Aramis was trying his hardest not to blush. “Okay,” he replied. “I hope you like chocolate.” 

“Why?” Athos was looking at him warily. 

“Constance is making you a cake,” Aramis replied. “She does it every time someone moves into the neighborhood. Hasn’t happened for a while though, so she’s going all out.” 

“Lovely,” Athos replied in a dry tone that suggested he did not find the idea lovely at all. He turned to the boxes that the movers were unloading from the tuck. 

Aramis shifted uneasily. He felt like that was the end of the conversation, but he felt guilty abandoning Athos to take all those boxes in by himself. 

“So, are you new to the area?” Aramis asked. He was genuinely curios. 

Athos picked up a box. “Sort of,” he replied evasively. “If you are going to insist upon standing there and talking, the least you can do take this box inside and put it on the island. I trust that you can find the kitchen.” 

Aramis grinned and took the box that Athos offered to him. He nearly dropped it. The box felt like it weighed eighty pounds.

“What the fuck do you have in here?” Aramis said, staggering slightly under the weight. “Are you carrying rocks in this box?” Athos picked up the box easily enough; Aramis briefly entertained the thought that Athos might be stronger than Porthos, but dismissed it. 

Athos glared at him and picked up another box, leading the way into the house. Luckily, Aramis knew where the kitchen was from the couple of times he had been over here and was able to dump the ridiculously heavy box on the island with only a minor amount of swearing. 

“You did offer to help,” Athos said calmly and with the faintest hint of a smile. 

Aramis scoffed. “That was before I knew that you had a collection of rocks.” 

“Actually their pans,” Athos replied. “But your rock guess was close.” 

Aramis chuckled. “To bad Porthos isn’t home, he’d be able to move all your rock boxes in just fine.” 

“Who’s Porthos?” Athos asked curiously. 

They went back outside to grab more of the boxes. “He’s my boyfriend,” Aramis explained. Was it just wishful thinking on his part or did Athos look slightly crestfallen at the news. “I know he’d love to take you to coffee.” 

Athos gave him a small smile. “That would be nice.”


	25. Chapter 25

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 25 - "I know I keep coming to the cookie shop and for some reason it’s always your shift but don’t you dare judge me I need these for my sanity"
> 
> Tags: Fleanon
> 
> For some reason it wasn't letting me upload last night

Flea checked her watch again. She still had a few minutes before she had to worry about being late to work. Today definitely felt like a cookie day. Constance had been telling her about a place that had opened nearby. It was practically fate telling her to go buy cookies. 

When Flea walked into the shop, she was greeted by the warm scent of baking cookies. 

“Hi,” a woman behind the counter said in a bright voice when Flea walked through the door. Flea was taken aback by the cheerfulness of it. 

“Uh – hi,” she replied. The woman behind the counter was beautiful in an untouchable kind of way. Even with a plain white shirt and black pants, she still managed to pull off a regal, gorgeous look that made Flea forget how to speak normally. 

Ninon, according to the nametag on her shirt, looked at Flea expectantly and Flea realized that she was staring. 

“Cookies,” Flea blurted out. “I’d like to get some cookies.” She fought the urge to bury her head in her hands. One look from a pretty girl and she was unable to speak. 

Ninon looked at her, trying and failing to hide her grin. “Never would have guessed.” 

“Can I get some chocolate chip ones,” Flea mumbled, her cheeks blazing red. 

“Of course,” Ninon said brightly. 

Flea read the menu of different types of cookies. Mostly for something to do so she didn’t stare at Ninon. When she paid for her order, Ninon slipped a menu inside the bag. 

“In case you forget that we have cookies,” she said with a teasing smile.

“You know it’s not nice to tease,” Flea said, scowling only a little. She couldn’t tell if Ninon was flirting or just being really friendly. 

“Maybe it’s cause you’re so cute,” Ninon said smoothly. She turned to help the customer behind Flea, before Flea could respond. She grabbed the bag and left the shop feeling very warm and very confused. 

~

Almost two weeks had passed before Flea was able to make a trip to the cookie shop again. She had ended up staying later than usual at work and was looking forward to curling up on her couch with a glass of wine and several new episodes of her show that she had been unable to catch up on. 

When she pulled up outside the shop, Flea reflected sadly on the fact that Ninon probably was not working. She would have liked to see her again. Even though their first meeting had left her with a lot of confused feelings. 

The shop was deserted when Flea walked in. She thought for a minute that they were closed. Flea was just about to leave when Ninon walked out of the back.

“Hey,” Ninon said, smiling brightly when she saw Flea. “Chocolate chip girl.”

Flea tried and failed to keep her cheeks from turning red. She was secretly thrilled that Ninon had remembered who she was. However, she was less thrilled for the reason. 

“My name’s Flea,” she said.

Ninon cocked her head curiously. Most people looked confused when she told them her name. Flea braced herself for the questions that always came. 

“Cool name,” Ninon said. “Did you come to get more chocolate chip cookies?” 

Flea grinned in relief. She always hated answering the questions. “How about something different. What would you recommend?”

Ten minutes later, Flea left the cookie shop with five different kind of cookies to try.

~

Flea was stressed out and wanted something sweet to eat. Her first thought was the cookie shop and it wasn’t until she walked through the door that she thought of Ninon. She wished that she had though because Ninon smiled brightly at her the minute she walked through the door. 

Flea had her hair up in a messy bun. The sweater that she was wearing was several sizes too big and Flea was fairly certain that it had been Porthos’ at one point. 

“Flea,” Ninon said cheerfully. “You’re back.”

It had been a few weeks. Flea had been busy with work and now she had a huge project that was due in a couple days, but Charon hadn’t done his part of the presentation. So now, Flea was stuck working overtime until she got the project finished. 

“Yeah,” Flea said, yawning widely. It was late afternoon and she was ready to take a very long nap. “Can I just get chocolate chip?”

“Long day?” Ninon asked sympathetically. 

Flea nodded. “Nearly done with a very long and frustrating project,” she said. “Thought I would reward myself with something sweet before I put the finishing touches on it.” 

Ninon boxed up the cookies and handed them to Flea with an understanding smile. “Don’t work yourself to hard sweetie.”

Flea took the box and waved to Ninon, who was turning to help the person behind Flea. When Flea opened the box at home, she was surprised to find a couple extra cookies and a handwritten note that read “Good Luck!” There was also a scribble at the bottom of the note that looked heart shaped, but Flea was too tired to try to figure out what that meant. 

~

It was late the next time Flea stopped by the cookie shop. She was hoping that Ninon was in there tonight. Maybe this time she would actually get to have a conversation with her and learn something other than her name. 

When Flea pushed open the door, she was relieved to see Ninon standing inside. “Hey,” Flea said, smiling slightly. 

Ninon smiled back. “What can I help you with?”

“I was actually going to ask if you wanted to go get dinner,” Flea stammered. “With me, tonight or whenever. Doesn’t have to be tonight.” 

Ninon cut her off before Flea could embarrass herself any further. “My shift gets done in a few minutes. There’s a place down the street that serves coffee.”

“Sound perfect,” Flea replied enthusiastically. Ninon even brought some extra chocolate chip cookies to the coffee shop.


	26. Chapter 26

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 26 - Teasing them about the silly pop song they’re listening to.
> 
> Tags: Porthos/Athos, OT3ish

Athos was sprawled on the couch, reading his book. He had his headphones in and the music on shuffle. As another pop song came on, Athos knew that it had been a mistake to let Aramis choose the music to put on his phone. There were too many annoying pop songs with way too catchy lyrics and not enough of the usual classical music that Athos liked to listen to when he was reading. 

He glanced over the edge of his book to where Porthos was seated on the floor, busy trying to put together the bookshelf that they had purchased earlier that day. Athos’ collection of books and Porthos’ collection of movies had gotten slightly out of control and had run out of space on their other two bookshelves. 

Athos scowled as he skipped three songs in a row, finally landing on one that hopefully wasn’t going to be stuck in his head all day. He was never going to let Aramis anywhere near his phone ever again. 

He picked up his book, reading a few more pages before his phone was snatched off his chest. The headphones following the phone with a sharp tug at Athos’ ears. 

“What are you listening to?” Porthos asked. He had apparently gotten bored while putting the bookshelf together and had decided to come bother Athos. 

Athos got up from the couch, glaring at him. “Give me back my phone.” 

Porthos ignored him and thumbed through the playlist that Athos’ had been listening too. 

“You’re listening to Blank Space?” Porthos grinned. “I figured you wouldn’t even know who Taylor Swift is.” 

Athos scowled at him. “I know who she is,” he said. 

Porthos was still laughing when Athos threw a pillow at him. It hit Porthos in the head with a rather satisfying thump. Athos tried to grab his phone back, but Porthos held it above his head. The tips of Athos’ fingers barely brushed the phone. 

Porthos laughed. “Everyone knows that you listen to boring old classical music.”

“It is not boring,” Athos protested. “Aramis put it on my phone if you must know.” 

Porthos shook his head fondly. “Oh course he did,” he replied.

“Give me my phone,” Athos repeated with a growl. 

“Only if you sing the song,” Porthos replied with a grin. 

Athos stood on his tiptoes to try to grab his phone, but Porthos leaned back far enough that Athos was only able to grab the headphones. 

“Porthos,” Athos said darkly. He didn’t sing. Aramis had talked him into doing it once and that had been a disaster. 

Porthos however was not phased in the slightest. “Come on,” he coaxed. “Just one little song. How about you sing just the main verse?”

“No,” Athos replied shortly. 

“Please?” Porthos said. 

Athos glared at him. He sat down, picked up his book, hoping that Porthos would go back to building the bookshelf, and put his phone down. However, Porthos, as if guessing what Athos’ plan was, just put the phone in his pocket and picked up a screwdriver. 

Several minutes ticked past. Athos was able to read in peace until Porthos started whistling. 

“Must you?” Athos asked, glaring disparagingly at Porthos. 

“Don’t know what you’re talking about,” Porthos replied looking at Athos with a convincing look of innocence. 

“Mhmm,” Athos turned back to his book. Two minutes later Porthos started whistling again. Athos fought the urge to throw his book at Porthos. 

Athos waited until Porthos was looking at the instructions for the bookcase. He tried to slip his phone out of Porthos’ pocket without the man noticing. Unsurprisingly, Athos plan did not work. 

“Not getting it back that easily,” Porthos teased, grabbing Athos’ wrist. 

Athos scowled and he tried to tackle Porthos in a last ditch effort. Also unsurprisingly that did not work. Athos knew that he could never beat Porthos in a fair fight. He was hoping that the element of surprise might work out in his favor. Surprise worked for a minute, enough time for Athos to knock Porthos off balance, but he wasn’t able to grab his phone. 

Before Athos could escape, Porthos had snaked a hand around his waist, tugging him back. There was a brief struggle and Athos ended up pinned to the ground, Porthos face a few inches above his own. 

“How’s your plan working?” Porthos teased. He was breathing a little harder than usual. 

Athos frowned. “Shut up,” he growled. “And get off me.”

“You started it,” Porthos pointed out. 

“I did not,” Athos replied indignantly. “You took my phone.”

Porthos rolled his eyes. “You attempted to tackle me.”

“Because you took my phone,” Athos said. He tried and failed to wiggle out from under Porthos’ bulk. 

“You could have just sang the song,” Porthos said with a sigh. “I’m not the one who decided to make things difficult. 

Athos scoffed. “I’m not singing.” His view wasn’t half bad, but he did want to finish his book. First thing first, he needed to make Porthos move.

“Then I guess that you are going to be stuck here for a very long time,” Porthos said with a smirk. Athos didn’t think that it sounded like that much of a threat. Porthos leaned his head down, capturing Athos’ lips in a kiss. Athos deepened the kiss until Porthos was distracted enough that he didn’t feel Athos grabbing his phone out of Porthos’ back pocket.


	27. Chapter 27

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 27 - "Why are you in my bed?"
> 
> Tags: Portamis, background Constance/Anne

Saturday mornings were Aramis’ favorite day of the week. He was able to sleep in, have a lazy morning and lounge on the deck. Preferably, reading his book and sipping his coffee, or sleeping off a hangover. 

Aramis opened his eyes, squinting at the sunlight that was streaming through his open curtains. With a yawn he rolled over, fully intending on going back to sleep for another hour. There was no plans and he had the house to himself. 

Instead of being able to spread out on his rather comfortable larger than practical mattress, Aramis arm hit something large and warm. He rolled over to see what was in his bed and was greeted with a rather handsome face next to him. 

A rather handsome face that Aramis may or may not have fantasied a lot about kissing and which was now inches from his own sleeping peacefully. 

Aramis let out a scream. 

Porthos jolted awake and feel out of the bed in a tangled heap of bed sheets and flailing limbs. He hit the floor with a thud and a yelp of pain. 

“What the hell, Aramis?” Porthos yelled. 

“Why are you in my bed?” Aramis shouted back. 

His brain was still playing catch up with the fact that Porthos was in his bed. Actually, on his floor, but still looking so stupidly attractive that Aramis couldn’t think straight. Aramis noticed that Porthos wasn’t wearing a shirt and had a hickey on his neck. The wires in his brain short-circuited. 

He tried not to think about where Porthos had gotten that hickey. Aramis had things that were more important on his mind, the fact that the object of several of his fantasy’s was in his bedroom and glaring at Aramis from the floor, was top of his list. 

Porthos clambered to his feet, wincing slightly. “I think you bruised my leg,” he growled. The bed sheet that had twisted around Porthos’ ankles when he had fallen out of bed nearly caused him to trip as he tried to take a step. 

“I didn’t do anything,” Aramis pointed out. 

He hoped that Porthos was taking about Aramis scaring him out of bed and not something that had happened last night because he couldn’t remember a lot of last night. It was all just a blur of loud music and flashing lights. 

Anne had thought it would be a good idea to do jello shots before they went out and Aramis had lost track of the amount that he had consumed. He was hoping that he hadn’t done something stupid, like kiss someone or confess his love for Porthos. 

“Have you seen my shirt?” Porthos asked. He was looking around the room and Aramis found himself thinking about how he could get used to waking up to a sight like that in the morning. 

“No idea,” Aramis said. He sank back into the pillows with a groan, closing his eyes and trying to get his thoughts in order. 

Even though his eyes were closed, Aramis could still sense Porthos looking at him with concern. “You okay?” Porthos asked. “Hangover?”

“Something like that,” Aramis muttered. His head did hurt, but it hardly counted as a hangover compared to some of the ones that Aramis had suffered from in the past. The bed dipped down as Porthos down next to Aramis. 

Aramis was half tempted to open his eyes, just to see what Porthos was doing, when Porthos started running his fingers through Aramis hair soothingly. Aramis sighed contentedly and leaned into the touch. He knew that he should be trying to put as much distance between them at the moment, but Aramis couldn’t bring himself to care when he was this comfortable. 

“Better?” Porthos asked. 

Aramis nodded and Porthos chuckled, looping his arm around Aramis’ shoulder and tugged him closer. They sat like that for a while, before Porthos started moving.

“Hmm?” Aramis mumbled in confusion. The comfortable position and the fingers running through his hair had caused him to nearly fall back asleep. 

“Bathroom,” Porthos explained. “Be right back.”

Aramis watched him leave and rolled back over on his back, staring at the ceiling. The first thought that crossed his mind was that he really needed to vacuum up the spider webs in the corner. The second was what he was going to do when Porthos came back. Aramis brain was also being extremely unhelpful and kept coming up with ridiculous plans. 

The most ridiculous being to tell Porthos that he liked him. 

Before Aramis could come up with a realist plan, Porthos walked back into the room.

“You asleep there?” Porthos asked the smile evident in his voice.

Aramis sat up. “No,” he replied. “I’ve lost my pillow.” 

“Want some coffee?” Porthos asked, nodding his head towards the kitchen.

As much as Aramis really wanted his daily cup of coffee, he also wanted some question answered. 

“In a minute,” Aramis said.

Porthos looked at him in surprise. “No coffee,” he teased. “The world must be ending.”

Aramis took a deep breath, starting with the most obvious question. “Why were you in my bed?”

“More comfortable than the couch,” Porthos replied with a shrug. “And you were very insistent.” 

Aramis bit back a groan. “What happened last night?”

“Well you and Anne got drunk,” Porthos said slowly. 

Aramis nodded. “As usual,” he said. So far nothing terribly embarrassing. 

“Then Anne and Constance went to her place,” Porthos continued. 

That was news to Aramis. He would have to text Anne congratulations. She had been pinning over Constance for a while now, at least one of them was succeeding. 

“Then you kissed me,” Porthos said. 

Aramis blinked. “I did what?” He asked, hoping that he misheard Porthos somehow. 

“Gave me this too,” Porthos said, tapping the hickey on his neck.

“Sorry,” Aramis replied. He could not believe that he had kissed Porthos and that he couldn’t remember doing it. Aramis didn’t know which thought made him more upset. 

Porthos, either sensing Aramis distress or seeing it on his face, crossed the room and sat next to Aramis on the bed.

“I didn’t mind it,” Porthos said softly. 

Aramis looked at him. “What do you mean?” 

Porthos pulled Aramis to him, before Aramis could protest he found himself kissing Porthos. The kiss deepened and it was a hundred times better than Aramis ever could have imagined. Before Aramis’ brain fully caught up with him, Porthos pulled back. 

“Still want that coffee?” He asked, smirking slightly. Aramis rolled his eyes and tugged Porthos back for another kiss. This one he was definitely going to remember.


	28. Chapter 28

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 28 - "Your horrible car is in my parking lot like I know it doesn’t have a name but it’s my parking lot I’ve grown attached to it so why don’t you move your horrible car and get your ugly f—oh my god you’re hot HELLO THERE"
> 
> Tags: Athamis

Aramis could not believe that someone was currently parked in his parking spot. He parked there each and every day and nearly everyone who worked here knew that. It wasn’t like the parking spot had his name on it, but Aramis still considered it to be his spot. 

One of the few days that he actually showed up late for work and there was someone in his spot. Someone with a horrible, horrible car. Aramis sat in his front seat, tapping his fingers on the wheel. He glared at the other car. 

It wasn’t his fault that he was late. He had overslept, but that was no reason for someone to park their horribly ugly car in his unofficial official parking spot. 

Aramis pulled into a spot that was much further away than he liked parking. He stepped out of his car, slamming his door shut harder than usual to make a point. The walk across the parking lot was further than Aramis liked walked and he continued to fume about how unfair it was that he was being forced to walk. Aramis walked past the car that had stolen his spot and realized that whoever had parked there was still in the car. 

Aramis tapped on the driver’s window. He was going to have to inform him that he couldn’t just park in other peoples spots. Aramis could see the man jump, smacking his knee on the steering wheel. Aramis thought that he deserved that for taking his space. 

“What?” The man growled. He had rolled his window partial down, but Aramis still couldn’t see his face. 

“You’re in my spot,” Aramis said loudly. 

There was silence for a moment. “Excuse me?” The man sounded perplexed. 

“That’s my spot that you’re parked in,” Aramis explained. Why couldn’t the man just move his horribly ugly car somewhere else and let Aramis park there. That was the decent thing to do. 

“I don’t see your name anywhere on it,” the man replied. Aramis could practically hear the smirk in the other man’s voice. 

He frowned. “That’s because everyone knows that I park there,” Aramis continued. “And it’s rude to park in someone else’s spot.” He glared at the window, unsure if the man was even looking at him. 

The car door opened and Aramis had to take several steps back to avoid being smacked by the door. The insult that he was going to throw died on his lips because the man who stepped out of the car was unbelievable gorgeous. He was staring inquiringly at Aramis with piercing blue eyes. It took a minute for Aramis to remember that he was supposed to be pissed off, no matter how attractive he was. 

“What?” He demanded when Aramis kept staring at him.

Aramis felt his face flush. “Nothing,” he snapped. The man was wearing a suit that appeared to be tailor made. It hung on his body in all the right ways and Aramis was having a hard time keeping his mind off ways to get him out of the suit. 

“Do you make it a habit to annoy everyone who works here?” A hint of amusement in his voice. 

Aramis struggled not to smile. “Only those who steal my spot.”

“It’s a parking spot.”

“I’ve grown attached to it!” 

The man rolled his eyes and muttered something under his breath. “You do realize that you have made me late.” 

“Not my fault you sat in your car,” Aramis replied. He glanced at his watch and swore loudly. Treville was going to have his head for being nearly thirty minutes late. 

“You’re the one who insisted that I move,” he snapped. If his glare could kill than Aramis would certainly be pushing up daises. 

“Well you still haven’t done that yet, have you,” Aramis retorted. 

He scoffed. “You are insufferable.” 

“Am not,” Aramis replied. He had no idea what the word meant, but judging by the tone it was delivered in, it was not a good thing. 

The man ignored Aramis and headed inside the building. Aramis glared at his back before heading after him. He was going to be stuck at work forever. 

~

Aramis was right. He had been stuck at work until well after he usually left. Treville had been displeased with Aramis tardiness and forced him to actually finish all his paperwork before leaving. When Aramis finally left for the night, he spotted the man who stole his spot trying to start his car.

Aramis was resolutely determined to walk past the man without saying anything. 

“Can you give me a jump?” The man asked, sounding annoyed. 

“You could try asking nicely,” Aramis said, surprised that the man had bothered to ask him at all. 

There appeared to be an internal struggling going on in the man’s head. The likely hood of him finding someone else to give him a jump was low and the fact that Aramis was even leaving this late was nothing short of a miracle. 

“Please will you give me a jump?” The man asked through gritted teeth. 

Aramis thought about asking for a pretty please, but decided that he would probably get punched in the face, judging by the tightness of the other man’s jaw.

“Here,” Aramis handed him the cables from his trunk. “The name’s Aramis by the way.” 

“Athos,” came the short reply. He hooked up the cables. The car sputtered to life and Athos continued to glower. “I suppose I ought to thank you.”

“A cup of coffee would not be out of the question,” Aramis said with a smirk. He was resolutely not thinking about other ways that Athos could thank him.

Athos raised his eyebrows slightly. “Isn’t it a little late for coffee.”

“I’ll take a raincheck then,” Aramis replied confidently. 

Athos muttered something under his breath as he got in his car. 

The next morning when Aramis got to work he found both his usual parking spot empty and a cup of warm coffee on his desk.


	29. Chapter 29

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 29 - “You’re gonna need to repeat that.” 
> 
> Tags: OT3

“You’re gonna need to repeat that,” Athos said. He was sitting on the couch and Aramis had interrupted his read with a much too cheerful grin on his face. That look never boded well for Athos. 

Aramis rolled his eyes. “You, me, Porthos,” he said, pointing to each person as if Athos had somehow forgotten who they all were. “Are going on a camping trip.”

“Right,” Athos replied slowly. “Just wanted to make sure I heard you correctly.”

“Doesn’t it sound like fun?” Aramis exclaimed gleefully.

“Are you nuts?” Athos had to remind himself to take a deep breath and not shout. “Us go camping? We don’t know the first thing about camping!” Athos much preferred to remain inside where there was air conditioning and no bugs. 

Porthos had wandered out of the kitchen and leaned against the doorframe. “I went on a camping trip when I was six,” he said. 

“Not helping!” Athos shot back. 

Porthos just shrugged and grinned at him. “It sounds like it might be fun.” 

“We can google it!” Aramis cried happily. He was practically bouncing on his heels and still looking far too joyful for Athos’ taste. “It’ll be so much fun; we can make s’mores, stay up late, and tell ghost stories. In the morning I’m making waffles.”

“You don’t know how to make waffles,” Porthos pointed out. 

Both Athos and Aramis ignored him. 

“But camping?” Athos asked. 

He knew it was a lost cause at this point. It was useless to try to dissuade Aramis when he got like this. Whenever Aramis decided to do something and drag them all into whatever hair-brained scheme he had decided to try out it was impossible to stop him. But dammit if Athos wasn’t going to dig his heels in and complain loudly the entire time. 

“Yes camping,” Aramis replied, a touch of exasperation in his voice. 

Porthos had retreated back to the kitchen. “I already said that we would go,” he yelled over his shoulder. 

“Traitor!” Athos growled. Aramis kissed him on the check and practically skipped out of the room. 

~

Athos had his headphones shoved in his ears and the volume louder than was probably wise, all in an attempt to drown out whatever music Aramis had put on. In the front seat, Porthos kept trying to turn down the volume and Aramis kept arguing that his music taste was good no matter what either Athos or Porthos said. Even with racket coming from the front seat, Athos still managed to doze off. 

“Wakey, wakey!” Aramis hollered. Athos jolted awake, swearing loudly. 

“What the fuck, Aramis?” Athos shouted. He attempted to untangle himself from the headphones that had somehow managed to wrap themselves around his necklace. 

“Get up grouchy,” Aramis said, still speaking way louder than necessary in the confined space of the car. “We’ve got a tent to pitch!”

“I know where you can pitch that tent,” Athos muttered darkly. Aramis had already jumped out of the car and missed the comment. 

Porthos chuckled. “Come on,” he said. “It won’t be that awful.”

~   
Aramis didn’t get his s’mores. He barely got his fire. The rain had started shortly after the tent had been set up. Setting up the tent had proved to be almost disastrous. Somehow, Aramis had managed to purchase the only tent in the world that did not come with directions. 

The rain had started first with just a light trickle and then turned into a downpour. By the time that all three of them had gotten into the tent, they were completely soaked. 

The tent didn’t do much to keep them dry either. 

As well as purchasing the only tent without directions, Aramis had also managed to somehow get one that did not have a rain cover. Athos was thankful that he had left his bag in the car. 

Porthos was still attempting to keep their things dry and help Aramis blow up the air mattresses. 

“What we’re you saying about this not being awful?” Athos asked sarcastically. He was huddled in the corner, knees drawn up to his chest in an attempt to retain some body heat. 

Porthos frowned. “Not helpful.”

“This sucks,” Aramis said attempting to push his sopping wet hair out of his face.

“No shit,” Athos muttered. 

“Athos!” Porthos growled in a warning tone. 

Athos stood up, knocking more rainwater into their flooding tent. “I’ll be in the car,” he snapped and stalked off towards the car. When he tried to open the doors, they remained shut. Athos growled and yanked on the handle uselessly. 

“It’s locked,” Porthos shouted from the tent.

“Well unlock it,” Athos shouted back. There was a blinding flash of lightening, quickly followed by an earth-rumbling boom of thunder. “Porthos!” 

There was a click, barely audible over the pouring rain. Athos tugged the door open and clambered into the back seat. His teeth were chattering, his cloths clung to his, and he was colder and wetter than he had ever been in his life. The upside was that the van was at least drier than the tent. 

Ten minutes later, Porthos and Aramis sprinted to the car. 

“Camping sucks,” Aramis said sadly. His hair plastered to his face. 

Athos was laying in the backseat. “So what’s the plan now?”

Porthos shivered. “Finding some dry cloths.” 

Aramis grinned, his eyes glinting wickedly. “We’ll definitely have to get you out of those wet cloths.” Neither Athos nor Porthos responded and Aramis slumped back into his seat with a bored sigh.

Porthos started the car and turned the heat up as high as it would go. “I’m not driving anywhere in this weather.”

Aramis smirked at Porthos and then clambered over the seats to join Athos, peppering his jaw with light kisses. 

Athos attempted to glare at him. “It’s too cold.”

“I bet I can think of a way to warm you up,” Aramis grinned. Porthos chuckled and Athos could help but roll his eyes. Outside, the rain continued to fall and thunder rumbled.


	30. Chapter 30

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 30 - Looking for a new apartment
> 
> Tags: eventual OT3, implied Constagnan
> 
> Sorry for the abrupt ending. It's 2 am and I have to be at work in 5 hours.

Athos was not a people person. Actually, he couldn’t deal with stupid people. But since it seemed that everyone he interacted with lately was a moron, Athos decided that he just didn’t like people. 

However, for the last week and a half Athos’ had been forced to interact with all sorts of morons because he was stuck looking for a new place to stay. D’Artagnan, his soon to be ex-roommate, was moving in with Constance. Forcing, rather cruelly in Athos’s opinion, the current fucking predicament. 

So now, Athos had packed his belongings in a couple cardboard boxes and two bags. He also had a lease that was almost up and both Constance and Ninon didn’t want him living by himself. If he kept the old place, they’d both find excuses to drop by and drag him to social events. At least if Athos had a roommate he’d be able to come up with an excuse. 

Thus had begun the search for a new place to live. Every apartment that he had been to so far were all crap. Either the people in the apartment were whack jobs or the apartment sucked. 

This was his last apartment of the day. After this one, Athos was going to call it quits for the day, go back to his soon-to-be-not-his apartment, and enjoy a bottle of wine. Athos pressed the buzzer for apartment 210. The apartment building itself wasn’t awful looking. Sure, it needed a little paint, but there were potted plants on several of the balconies and one even had a string of blue lights.

“Which apartment you looking to get into?” A large man with tight curls was leaning over the balcony with the blue lights and eyeing Athos’ suspiciously. 

“Um 210,” Athos replied. “I’m here about the advertisement in the newspaper.” 

“Nice, Aramis’s been looking for a new roommate,” the man said with a grin. “The buzzer doesn’t work for his apartment, but I’ll buzz you up.” He disappeared from the balcony and a moment later, the door emitted a loud buzz. Athos took a deep breath before heading up the stairs. 

Lucky for him, the apartment was only on the second floor. Athos hated stairs almost as much as he hated stupid people. The large man from the balcony was standing in the hallway talking with another man. He was even more gorgeous in person and Athos had to remind himself not to stare. 

“Oh hey, I’m Porthos,” the man introduced himself, giving Athos another wide grin. “I live right across the hall.” Athos was tempted to take the apartment based on that fact alone. 

“Nice to meet you,” Athos replied, shaking the offered hand. He couldn’t help noticing the poor job that the shirt did of cover Porthos’ arms. 

Athos turned to the other man before he started staring to much. “You Aramis?” He asked. 

“Yeah,” Aramis said with a bright grin. “Athos, right? I got your email earlier; let me show you the place.” Athos was finding it hard not to stare. Why was everyone in this apartment stunningly attractive? Aramis had long dark hair and an easy smile. The well-groomed mustache gave him the appearance of a swarthy pirate and Athos quickly tried to think of something else, least he start blushing. 

Aramis held open the door to his apartment and waited for Athos to walk through. 

“Let me know if you need help hiding the body later,” Porthos called. Aramis made a face and closed the door as Porthos opened his mouth to say something else. 

“He’s joking,” Aramis said, rolling his eyes. 

“I dunno,” Athos replied. “You look pretty murderous to me.” Apparently hanging out with Ninon had removed his filter. 

Aramis blinked before grinning and laughed, “I like you already.” 

~

The tour of the apartment had gone well. Athos liked the place well enough. There was cracks in the drywall and the furniture was well worn. There was no cohesion between the couch, blankets, or pillows. But Aramis, seemed charming enough and not as annoying as some people Athos had spoken to. There was also the fact that Aramis was incredibly attractive. 

“So, what do you think?” Aramis asked. 

“What happened to your last roommate?” Athos asked. Perhaps Aramis wasn’t as charming as Athos had and Aramis was just too good to be true. 

“Flea just moved two floors up to live with her girlfriend,” Aramis said. “It was sort of last minute, but at least they aren’t making out on my couch anymore.” 

“Oh that’s nice,” Athos said awkwardly. 

“You’re not allergic to dogs are you?” Aramis asked. 

“What?” Athos asked, rather taken aback by the change of questions. “Um, no I’m not. Why?”

“Flea was,” Aramis explained. “It sucked and I plan on getting one. Porthos knows a guy who has some and they’re super adorable.”

“A dog?” Athos asked. He thought dogs were okay. The little ones were yippy and big ones drooled everywhere. 

“It’ll be a smallish one,” Aramis amended. “Not a deal breaker I hope?”

“It’s not,” Athos said quickly. He tried not blush. 

“You’ll move in?” Aramis asked excitedly.

Athos nodded, his face still beat red. “Sure.” 

Aramis smiled widely, looking very pleased. He got paperwork from a kitchen drawer and gave it to Athos. “You just need to fill these out and you can move in whenever you want.”

“Great, paperwork,” Athos said sarcastically. He shuffled the forms around on the table. “My current lease is gonna be up in about two days. Is it alright if I move in then?” 

“Oh most definitely,” Aramis said with a grin. “I’m sure Porthos can put his muscles to good use and help bring your stuff up the stairs.” They discussed some of the finer points of their living arrangement. Athos found that he was looking forward to moving in. 

~

When Athos did move in, Porthos helped bring his stuff up. Aramis helped by baking a cake and Athos found that for once, he didn’t dislike the attention.


	31. Chapter 31

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 31 - Amusement Park 
> 
> Tags: OT3, Fleanon, and Constagnan

Athos was tired. Somehow, he had let Aramis talk him into going to an amusement park. He had no idea why he had even agreed to come. Amusement parks were loud and crowded - two of Athos’ least favorite things. 

But Aramis had insisted and Porthos had been roped into going as well and Athos really didn’t fancy spending the day by himself. Therefore, he had agreed to go and wondered if he was going to severely regret that choice before even stepping through the turnstiles. 

Somehow Athos agreeing to go and convinced Constance to drag d’Artagnan along. Then when they go there, Flea and Ninon were waiting outside the park entrance for them. 

“Dammit,” Ninon swore, catching sight of Athos. She dug some money out of her wallet and shoved it at Flea. “And here I was thinking that there was no way you were ever going to drag Athos to an amusement park.” 

“Yee of little faith,” Aramis scoffed. 

Athos glared at the pair of them. “Did you bet that I was coming here?” 

“I bet you were coming,” Flea said, counting her money from Ninon. “Ninon here bet that you weren’t going to show.”

Ninon shrugged halfheartedly. “Crowds, heat, noise,” she listed off. “Everything that you detest all in one place.” 

Athos scowled, but accepted a hug from her and ignored the whispered, “you’re going to despise it,” in his ear. 

The day had not been as terrible as Athos had expected. Most of the rides that they went on didn’t have terribly long lines and Porthos and Aramis made sure to distract Athos from the noise volume. 

Constance discovered that d’Artagnan did not have the stomach for spinning rides after dragging him on one with her. As soon as the ride stopped, d’Artagnan had sprinted for the nearest trashcan. Porthos, who wasn’t as big fan of the rollercoasters in the first place, offered to sit with d’Artagnan until he stopped looking so green. 

By the time that Porthos and d’Artagnan had caught up with the rest of the group, Aramis had already dragged them onto several more rollercoasters. Athos was feeling uncomfortably hot. The sun was beating down on their necks and faces as they were waiting in line and no matter how much sunscreen Athos put on, he still felt like he was getting a sunburn. 

They had stopped to take a short break when Athos decided that he needed to take a break or risk ending up like d’Artagnan. He was still looking a bit green and slowly ate an ice cream cone that Constance had handed him. 

“I’m going to sit over there for a little bit,” Athos said, he indicated a shady area in the grass. 

Aramis looked up in surprise. “Why?” He asked. He and Porthos were sharing an ice cream cone. Porthos took advantage of Aramis’ distraction to steal another spoonful. 

“It’s too hot to sit in the sun,” Athos explained. 

“There’s a water ride,” Aramis said. He batted away Porthos spoon and tried to keep the ice cream cone out of his reach. 

Athos fixed him with a stern glare. “I am not going on a water ride.” 

“But it’ll be fun,” Aramis exclaimed. 

Ninon chuckled as Athos glared at Aramis. “I think you owe me my twenty buck back, Flea.” 

“To bad I already spent it on that picture,” Flea replied, kissing the top of Ninon’s head.

“A water ride sounds like fun,” Constance said, wiping sweat of her face. 

That was how Athos found himself sandwiched between Aramis and Constance on the flume ride. D’Artagnan was squished in on Constance’s other side and Flea and Ninon were sitting behind them. Porthos had managed to get out of going on the ride. Athos had not been so lucky. 

“Not going on a water ride, huh?” Ninon teased him lightly. 

Athos craned his head around to glare at her. He would have responded, but the ride started forward and Aramis clutched Athos’ arm so tightly he was almost certain that it was going to bruise. 

The ride was actually kind of fun for Athos. He was mostly in the middle, so he didn’t get as drenched as d’Artagnan and Aramis did. Aramis’ curls were plastered to his face and Athos wished that he hadn’t left his phone with Porthos and could have gotten a picture. 

Athos was almost enjoying himself, right up until the final drop. They went speeding down the hill. Constance screamed loudly in his ear and Aramis was yelling something inaudible on his other side. Athos stomach felt like it had flip flopped and he squeezed his eyes shut. With his eyes closed, Athos was unable to see that giant wave of water coming their way, until it hit them. 

“What the hell?” Athos swore loudly, sputtering as water went into his nose. 

Aramis laughed. “Didn’t you see the water mon Cherie?” 

Athos muttered no and both Constance and Aramis dissolved into a fit of laughter. 

Porthos greeted them at the exit, holding their bags. “You’re gonna wanna see the picture,” he grinned. 

“There were pictures?” Athos asked warily. 

Porthos led the way over to the little photo-selling booth. The pictures from the ride were rotating on the screen. Most were of people that Athos did not recognize. Then he saw the ones of them. 

“Oh my god,” Aramis giggled. 

Flea and Ninon were in the last row, holding their hands over each other’s eyes. Constance and d’Artagnan looked both looked like they were in mid scream. Aramis had his hands up in the air and Athos had his eyes squeezed shut as tightly possible. 

Athos scowled at the picture. 

Constance laughed. “D’Artagnan, your face.” 

“I need to get a copy of that,” Aramis insisted. 

Athos hauled Aramis away from the booth. “Don’t you dare.” He did not need that picture to be in their house. 

“Don’t worry about it love,” Porthos yelled as Aramis attempted to wiggle away. “I’ve already bought a copy.”

Athos scowled. “Traitor.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well that's the end. Missed a few days, but I think I did pretty well considering that this is the first time I've done something like this.  
> I've just finished my summer job (at an amusement park ironically enough) and I've started my job as a CA/RA at school. There most likely won't be any uploads in August, but I'm hoping to do this again during September.  
> Thanks for reading it and commenting and kudos. 
> 
> Have a lovely day!

**Author's Note:**

> You can find me on Tumblr at code--chartreuse


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